Highway Chile
by Hollywood Grimm
Summary: The Kurt Cobain of His Time? Ferb Fletcher is Dead At 27. The rise and fall of internationally adored band The Highlighters.And a glimpse into a relationship that is as beautiful as it is destructive.Eventual P/F.Rated for Sex Drugs And Rock'N'Roll.
1. Highway Chile, An Introduction

**YOH EVERYONE =D this is my new P&F fanfic. This first part is really short because it's just an introduction, the chapters WILL get longer. It's gonna be about the rise and fall of The Highlighters, kinda like the movie Brothers Of The Head if you've ever seen it, anyways R&R PLEASE and let me know what you think [= oh and it's gonna be P/F eventually ;D Oh and for those who are wondering I am currently working on a LEMON for my other fic The You And Me Song Time After Time but it might take awhile to get up [;**

***Peace, Love, Flowers, Puppies, Nirvana***

**~~Mick, AKA Hollywood Grimm~~**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Phineas & Ferb cos if I did they'd get together already and I sadly do not own Highway Chile by the epic Jimi Hendrix. **

**Highway Chile**

_**The Jimi Hendrix Of His Time? Ferb Fletcher Is Dead At Age 27;**_

_Ferb Fletcher, lead singer and guitarist of punk grunge band The Highlighters was found dead in his Chelsea Hotel room in New York this morning. There was no suicide note, no signs that Fletcher was struggling with drugs. "No…no Ferb would never touch drugs" Claims the deceased's step sister Candace Flynn, age 33. Whether he gave himself the fatal injection or not Ferb Fletcher died of a heroin overdose, in true Rock N' Roll fashion. "I told him not to join that club" sobs Linda Flynn, Fletcher's step mother. What Mrs. Flynn is referring to of course is Jimi Hendrix, Janis Joplin, Jim Morrison and Kurt Cobain who all died at the tender age of twenty seven. Either way this talented soul gifted us all with his music. "Ferb is a man of action not words" Fletcher's step brother and Highlighter bassist Phineas Flynn was often quoted saying. Although he may have been a tad quiet, when he was on stage Fletcher let loose; "A green haired ball of pure raw talent"-The Rolling Stone stated when The Highlighters first began getting national attention…Maybe it's a blessing that this talented young man died so young…because he will now be remembered forever…truly…a legend… _

And that's when I stop reading the article…because it hurts too much. Because no one knows what I know about Ferb Fletcher, he was never happy…has no one ever hinted those undertones of sadness in the songs he wrote? No…Candace and mum and dad…they never knew SHIT. All those rabid fans who would throw themselves at him…they didn't know anything either. Our fellow Highlighters Baljeet and Buford didn't have any clue either. Only I know…and I can't carry the guilt any more. I just can't. I, Phineas Flynn dealt my step brother the fatal hit. I murdered a nationally adored rock star. I killed Ferb Fletcher.

_**YEAH**_

_**HIS GUITAR SWUNG ACROSS HIS BACK**_

_**HIS DUSTY BOOTS AND ITS HIS CADILLAC**_

_**A PAVEMENT HERE JUST A BLOWIN' IN THE WIND**_

_**AIN'T SEE A BED IN SO LONG IT'S A SIN**_

_**HE LEFT HOME WHEN HE WAS SEVENTEEN**_

_**THE REST OF THE WORLD HE LONGED TO SEE**_

_**AND EVERYBODY WHO KNOWS WAS BOSS**_

_**A ROLLING STONE GATHERS NO MOSS**_

_**NOW YOU PROBABLY CALL HIM A TRAMP **_

_**BUT IT GOES A LITTLE DEEPPER THAN THAT**_

_**HE'S A HIGHWAY CHILE**_

_**YEAH**_

_**NOW SOME PEOPLE SAY HE HAD A GIRL BACK HOME **_

_**WHO MESSED HIM AROOUND AND DID HIM PRETTY WRONG**_

_**THEY TELL ME IT KINDA HURT HIM BAD**_

_**KINDA MADE HIM FEEL PRETTY SAD**_

_**I COULDN'T SAY WHAT WENT THRU HIS MIND**_

_**ANYWAY HE LEFT THE WORLD BEHIND**_

_**AND EVERBODY KNOWS THE SAME OLD STORY**_

_**ANOTHER WAR YOU CAN'T LOSE IN GOLORY**_

_**NOW YOU MAY CALL HIM A TRAMP **_

_**BUT IT GOWAS A LITTLE DEEPER THAN THAT**_

_**HE'S A HIGHWAY CHILE**_

_**ONE MORE BROTHER**_

_**YEAH!**_

_**HIS GUITAR SWUNG ACROSS HIS BACK**_

_**HIS DUSTY BOOTS AND HIS HIS CADILLAC**_

_**A PAVEMENT HERE JUST A BLOWIN' IN THE WIND**_

_**AIN'T SEE A BED IN SO LONG IT'S A SIN**_

_**NOW YOU MAY CALL HIM A TRAMP **_

_**BUT I KNOW IT GO WAS A LITTLE DEPPER THAN THAT**_

_**HE'S A HIGHWAY CHILE**_

_**WALK ON BROTHER**_

_**DON'T LET NO ONE STOP YA**_

_**YEAH **_

_**HIGHWAY CHILE**_

_**YEAH YEAH YEAH**_

_**GO ON DOWN THE HIGHWAY**_

_**HIGHWAY CHILE**_


	2. In Bloom

**Hey there!! Here's the next installment of Highway Chile. I wanted to make this chapter longer but I just—really, really wanted to post something so you guys wouldn't think I abandoned this story before it even really began!! So yeah R&R and tell me your thoughts or ideas or shit I could improve or whatever. Cos trust me…thing's are about to get a lot more chaotic. **

**~~Peace, Love, Flowers, Puppies, Nirvana~~**

**~~Mick~~!**

**Disclaimer: Yeah, yeah Phineas & Ferb aren't mine; neither is In Bloom by the rather outstanding Nirvana. **

**In Bloom**

Present Day

"_I have to tell someone" I do have to tell someone. And she's the only one I can confide in. _

"_Tell someone what Mr. Flynn?" She says in a velvety monotone, pulling out a miniscule recorder and pressing 'Record'. _

"_Goddamit Isabella!" My words are sharp, slightly harsher than I planned on. "Goddamit" Here come the tears, streaking down my pale face—I haven't slept in three days—the three days since his death. I can't help it; I begin sobbing uncontrollably—inconsolably, I dig my hands into my scraggly red hair and yank it with a whimper. "You know me, don't call me Mr. Flynn…I'm Phineas, fuck...I'm just the same old Phineas as I've always been" _

_She squeezes her eyes shut, leaving traces of mascara against her pale cheeks. Isabella Garcia-Shapiro, the little girl who I used to fancy. So much has changed; we're not on the same wavelength…not even on the same goddamn planet. She's grown up…so fucking much that it makes me feel nauseous. We've all grown up too much. Fame ruined us. Isabella…once that adorable, peppy spitfire with flowing ravenette hair and bright brown eyes. She's so—so—different. Her hair is still long and she's kept it black but now it's in a fashionable updo with a sweeping fringe. Large silver hoops dangle from her tiny ears and a pink stud is set in her right nostril. Her petite and curvaceous body—a body that I'd once longed to touch and stroke—is clad in a grey tweed mini skirt and jacket that's left half unbuttoned to show a sliver of her low-cut cleavage bearing violet tank top. Tattoos of vines and roses and even a beautiful eagle snake up her delicate wrists. Shiny black Stiletto's are her choice of footwear—not exactly running material—but she's a rock journalist, she has no need for functional shoes. Yes, Isabella Garcia-Shapiro is a journalist for The Rolling Stone. And this is my interview—my first interview since Ferb's death. I won't talk to any other journalist or reporter. I ignore their phone calls, I ignore everything. Isabella is all I have—Baljeet and Buford are too busy clinging onto one another to give a fuck about me—and I don't blame them—if they knew the truth then—oh god…it's unforgivable. "Let's just get on with the interview" I see her swallow down the lump in her throat, her dull makeup lined eyes are glazed with unshed tears. "Mr. Flynn" She's so cold now. I can't even comprehend what's happened to her. It's as if she's aged an eon in three days. Her thin lips are lined with harsh red gloss. She's still gorgeous—but not sunny and warm—cold and untouchable—like a marble statue. I dare not feel her skin for fear of it being hard and smooth and ice cold, rounded in all the right places, sanded down to perfection. She's unreal. _

"_Isabella" I manage to choke out before tears start raining down again—is she really so emotionless that she can't even bring herself to cry? _

"_Mr. Flynn I do have an interview with Baljeet Patel at 3, I'm sorry to say that if you have anything to say we have the vicinity of four hours for you to get it out, that's it that's all" A red ball point pen is poised between her fake white teeth, a notepad full of blank lined sheets lying on the table in front of her. _

"_How—how can you be so indifferent" I wipe my puffy eyes with the too-long sleeve of the purple sweater I wear—it was Ferb's. I've been draping myself in layers of his clothes for three days now—they still smell like him—they still hold his essence. Isabella swallows again, she suddenly whips her head to the left—but she's not quick enough—I see the salty tear trickle down her cheek, marring her makeup and leaving a trail. At least I know she's still human. _

"_Phineas please" She says; her voice but a breath. "Tell me—tell me everything. But don't you dare say that you're the same old Phineas you've always been. Because you're not" Her tone turns from sniffling to frigid "Because you're _**not**. _And none of us will ever be the same, so don't you fucking pull that bullshit and say that we haven't changed. Cos we have. Ferb's __**dead **__Phin, he's dead and he's never coming back" Another tear makes its way down Isabella's plastic face. _

"_Of course we've changed" I rasp, my voice hitches, it's about two octaves higher than per usual and a little nasally because I've just been crying. For the first time I notice soft music playing in the background. No, she wouldn't. "Isabella" I hiccup "Turn the music off—turn it off"_

"_But the music's what this is all about right?" She's so stone cold—how can she stand it?_

_I gulp; a fresh batch of tears at the ready. "Yeah, the music's what it's all fucking about…what it's always been about" _

_Isabella seems satisfied with my reply. "Well then we can get this interview started" She picks up the tape recorder- it's been recording all this time- and speaks into it. "This is Isabella Shapiro, February 23__rd__ 2010 interviewing Phineas Flynn. He's the only one who can possibly shed some light on the death of famous rock star Ferb Fletcher. This is Isabella Shapiro on the rise and fall of nationally adored punk band The Highlighters." _

"_October 2006…I guess that was the first time"_

"_The first time for what?"_

"_The first time I realized it might all be too good to last…" _

**October 2006**

Twenty three and invincible he stepped out onto the stage. We thought it would last forever. Well…at least I did. October 31st 2006 was a life changing night. It was our first performance in front of a crowd larger than thirty people. And for the first time—but not nearly the last—we were greeted with applause.

"I think I can live forever" Ferb murmured into the microphone. To this day I'll never understand why he said that. But—right then—beneath the painfully bright spot lights—we were immortal. Nothing, NOTHING could fucking ruin that moment. That beautiful moment where my step brother just stood there, his thick black eyelashes angled upwards, the lights reflecting against the unreal emerald orbs of his irises, his thick pale lips—the perfect pouty mouth of a British boy—parted showing off the soft shiny red gums and off-white teeth.

Halloween night of 2006 was the first time—but not nearly the last—that I felt tears pricking at the corners of my eyes as I watched him. Soaking up the crowds approval, basked in artificial light, his smooth—almost vampirically—pale skin so—so unreal, so unreal yet so real that I wanted to tear off his partially undone buttermilk colored dress shirt and drag my fingernails down the curve of his back until he was bleeding. It's a strange thing—that first time—seeing Ferb Fletcher—THE Ferb Fletcher—on the stage and in the flesh, it was all so prophetic—a foreshadowing of what was to come. _Because he belonged up there. _He was meant to be adored. All his childhood he spoke only few words—shyness wasn't a factor, not even a bit—his vow of almost complete silence _made _him unspoken. He didn't need to say _anything _at all and still it was a gift to be in his company. When you were around Ferb Fletcher you were in the presence of greatness. _Fucking greatness. _It was as if all those epics—you know who I'm talking about—Elvis Presley, Johnny Cash, Marilyn Monroe, James Dean, Janis Joplin, Jimi Hendrix, Jim Morrison, Sid Vicious, Randy Rhodes, River Phoenix, Kurt Cobain, and not just the rock stars—Tesla, Newton—The Knights Templar—Alexander The Great—Shakespeare—It was like they had all come together and just made love, made love like there was no tomorrow—and Ferb Fletcher was the product—some fucking earth bound God who just happened to live in an obscurely small town called Danville. And as all these thoughts—too much, too much to handle—ran through my mind he ran his long fingers down the neck of his Fender Telecaster—a rip roaring introduction to Nirvana's In Bloom.

I began strumming my bass lazily. What happened to my childhood charisma? I was always the one to outshine him---but now he outshone me without even trying. His back hunched felinely over his guitar, he spat a strand of shaggy grass green hair from his mouth—his overgrown hair was always getting in the way. And unlike many first time performers Ferb stared into the eyes of the audience, into their hearts, into their souls, becoming one with the whole room. It was all so primal and fierce. Yeah Baljeet, Buford and I were onstage too but—we were nothing---nothing compared to—to _him. _Even wearing a simple dress shirt, raggedy Converse and an old pair of blue jeans he was fucking _better _than us. As I played my bass, as Baljeet plucked the strings on his Gibson Les Paul…as Buford angrily smashed his drums…it was chaotic, beautiful, perfect and chaotic.

"_Sell the kids for food_

_Weather changes moods_

_Spring is here again_

_Reproductive glands" _

I felt a lump in my throat at the sound of his voice. Ferb Fletcher…damn he could sing. He sung In Bloom with just as much passion as Kurt Cobain…maybe even more. I observed as his fingers tapped away on the neck of his Telecaster—an old Fender, sunburst with a cream white pick guard—the look on his face as he played was—indescribably lovely. His lips were parted—a thin string of saliva dripped down his sharp chin—his eyes were going from downcast—the long eyelashes brushing the angular cheeks—to staring levelly at the crowd—bright green irises full of sparks. But when the chorus came—that's what really made me tear up.

"_He's the one_

_Who likes all our pretty songs_

_And he likes to sing along_

_And he likes to shoot his gun_

_But he knows not what it means_

_Knows not what it means_

_When I say_

_He's the one_

_Who likes all our pretty songs_

_And he likes to sing along_

_And he likes to shoot his gun_

_But he knows not what it means_

_Knows not what it means_

_When I say yeeeaaahhh"_

Kurt Cobain with green hair and eyes to match. His voice was ragged and dark and awe striking—but I knew that if he wanted he could sing screeching Classic Rock or harsh wild Punk or even the deep crooning Blues.

"_We can have some more_

_Nature is a whore_

_Bruises on the fruit_

_Tender age in bloom"_

Even now…I'll never know how he got his vocals so low…yet so—legible. Every word was crystal fucking clear but still gravely and dark. My eyes left him for a few moments to scan the crowd. Candace was there and Jeremy, even Vanessa Doofenshmirtz. Now Vanessa was something else; her curvaceous body was decked out in a skin hugging black leather jacket, her velvety chocolate brown hair hung down to her full chest, her big brown eyes were lusty and lined with black makeup…lengthening mascara and to finish it all off, along with her indecently short red mini skirt she wore fishnet stockings—the cherry on top. She was absolutely luscious.

"_He's the one_

_Who likes all our pretty songs_

_And he likes to sing along_

_And he likes to shoot his gun_

_But he knows not what it means_

_Knows not what it means_

_when I say_

_He's the one_

_Who likes all our pretty songs_

_And he likes to sing along_

_And he likes to shoot his gun_

_But he knows not what it means_

_Knows not what it means_

_when I say yeeeaaahhh"_

But Vanessa's large doe eyed gaze wasn't for me. It was all for Ferb…and who could blame her? That first performance…the night that changed _everything _he was magnificent. My tall, quiet step brother…the one nobody had really paid attention to was fucking magnificent. As a kid…I had always been the one to be noticed. But October 31st 2006—Halloween night—with Vanessa dressed up in Rocky Horror Picture Show fashion and Buford sporting drawn on Frankenstein scars—changed _everything. _I was brought back to reality when Ferb began making his Tele scream out the solo of In Bloom. We launched into the final chorus with a newfound vigor. If Ferb was so great—hell let us all be fucking great I'd thought, ripping at the strings of my Fender bass. I threw my head back, my long bright red hair showered down against my bare shoulders.

"_He's the one_

_Who likes all our pretty songs_

_And he likes to sing along_

_And he likes to shoot his gun_

_But he knows not what it means_

_Knows not what it means_

_when I say_

_He's the one_

_Who likes all our pretty songs_

_And he likes to sing along_

_And he likes to shoot his gun_

_But he knows not what it means_

_Knows not what it means _

_Knows not what it means_

_Knows not what it means and I say yeeeaaahhh"_

Yeah Halloween night 2006 changed everything. Because it was the first time I thought it was all too surreal and perfect and tragic and beautiful to last. And fuck…I had no idea.


	3. Cut myself on angel hair & baby's breath

**Ahh yes chapter 3. I don't know whether I like this chapter or not. Hmm. Review please and tell me. And oh lord, the reviews I've gotten—though not that many—have been fucking inspiring. Your reviews are what keep me writing! They're the lifeblood of this story. Oh and I super duper recommend that you watch the movie Brothers of the Head because that's what this whole story was inspired by! Phineas is the Barry Howe character, Ferb is Tom Howe and Isabella is Laura Ashworth. But—fuck I have SO much more to write. Phineas has such a deeper tale to tell. I'm focusing less on the 2006-2007-2008 years, 2009-2010 is where we're really gonna delve into the heavy shit. Uhh not too much else to say…just don't lose hope in this story, I'm updating as quick as possible. Yet again I wanted to make this chapter longer but I really wanted to post SOMETHING so I ended it here. Oh and on another note the songs The Highlighters write is gonna be the songs The Bang Bang write in Brothers of the Head, which is why you NEED to watch it! I dunno if there are downloads for the music from Brothers of the Head, I had to buy the soundtrack…but trust me it's worth it. The songs from that film are absolutely tear jerking. So please, PLEASE watch it because to understand the rest of the story WELL you should see it. Kay…if you read this unnaturally long note than kudos, if you didn't—I don't blame you! R&R**

**~~Mick~~!**

**Disclaimer: Phineas & Ferb aint mine neither is Heart Shaped Box by Nirvana [listen to it while you read this]**

_**She eyes me like a Pisces when I am weak**_

_**I've been locked inside your heart-shaped box for weeks**_

_**I've been drawn into your magnet tar pit trap**_

_**I wish I could eat your cancer when you turn black**_

_**Hey! Wait! I got a new complaint**_

_**Forever in debt to your priceless advice**_

_**Hey! Wait! I got a new complaint**_

_**Forever in debt to your priceless advice**_

_**Hey! Wait! I got a new complaint**_

_**Forever in debt to your priceless advice**_

_**Your advice**_

**Cut my self on angel hair and baby's breath**

"_The fame came easily after that" I breathe from my chair—its metal seat is about as cold and uncaring as Isabella's persona. _

"_Did it Mr. Flynn?" Her voice is sharp, short…with a nonchalance that makes me feel sick. Like she's just brushing it all off, pretending that someone so __**close **__never died. Like…like there was never a Ferb Fletcher. But she can't deny his life—no one can. He was fucking brilliant, he had it all…he was an earth bound god…and no one can forget someone like that. In every decade—era—life-- there is that—__**someone**__—that makes your heart skip a beat, makes you feel nauseous with anticipation, makes you sweat, makes you cry time after fucking time because they've got than undeniable something that-no matter how hard you try—you can't get over. That was Ferb. Yeah it was all about the music—it really was—but more than anything—it was him, the Jimi Hendrix of a new generation that the world fell head over heels in love with. _

"_Well—fame is never easy." I'm struggling for the right words—words always fall short trying to talk about Ferb-because he is—was—indescribable. "…I mean, we had our struggles getting to the top sure but—the road was paved. One way or another we were gonna get famous—sooner or later—and everything happened sooner I guess" _

"_Because in four years The Highlighters were the band that defined a generation" Isabella's voice for a split moment—changes—changes back to the way she used to speak, wistful and chiming and heart pumping. But as soon as the words leave her mouth she bites down on her lip and squeezes her eyes shut—trying to forget about the past I imagine. Yeah…at first I tried to forget it all too Isabella—but I can't forget—and why the hell would I want to? _

"_Yeah" I swallow dryly, pick up the glass of water she's coolly laid out for me, and take a sip. "Yeah it was great while it lasted" As soon as I set the cup down my throat is again parched. "It was really fucking great" And then I'm sobbing again. _

**January 2007**

It'd been almost three months since our first _real _performance. Every fucking _moment _of that night was tattooed into my brain. Because for sixty one days—I'd been plagued with thoughts—thoughts—uneasy thoughts that wretched my heart up to my throat. Thoughts that---we were really gonna fucking make it. One performance--**one **—guaranteed us fame. That's what my initial gut feeling was anyways. And---I was right---I was **fucking **right. It was a story that I knew was going to be a heartbreaker from the start. And again…I hit the nail on the head.

Because that night Isabella Garcia-Shapiro tore out my heart and stepped all over it with her Stiletto high heels.

"Phineas" Her eyes—still bright wondrous brown then—were downcast. "I—I don't think we should see eachother anymore"

It was completely out of the blue, I swallowed dryly. "W—what?" Isabella and I had gotten together in 2006—when The Highlighters first formed—and it'd been…great. I couldn't fathom why she was doing this.

"I just" Her thick lips—perfect and pouty like a certain green eyed boy I knew—parted. "I-oh fuck, don't make this any harder for me than is has to be Phin—I'm sorry…but it isn't there anymore. Don't tell me that you haven't noticed. It's over. It's been over since Halloween"

Halloween? The night of our foreshadowing, breath taking performance. "Halloween…w-why?"

Isabella smiled lightly, a far away lilt of her lips. "Ferb."

"What about him?" My voice took on a harshness, a higher pitched anger.

She ran her fingers through her luscious black hair—long straight tresses and silky bangs down to her chest—I bit down on my lip fiercely. Isabella shook her head—like I was ridiculous for not knowing _why_ she was breaking it off with me because of Ferb. How could she do this to me—now when our fame was just rising—how could she abandon me? "You'll see someday" Her voice was all wistful again, like she wasn't really there at all. "Someday"

Ferb chose that moment to walk in. My eyes were beginning to water—all those years with her and she wanted to end it because---of my step brother?

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- 

"_Phin" Isabella, this new icy Isabella—let's down her guard, if only for a moment. "I left because you didn't ask me to stay"_

"_Than why because of Ferb?" Even after years, my mind still circles to question _why_ she ever said that. "Why?" _

_The ravenette's eyes narrow, her red pin-up-girl lips fall open "Because you loved him, and when I went you didn't care. You didn't care because you had him, you always had him" _

_But that's a fucking lie. Tears well up in my eyes. I let out a bitter, hollow laugh. How DARE she say that? "You really have no fucking idea do you Isabella? Ferb—he was fucking __**throat aching inspiration**__. How could I care about losing you when there was a chance of losing him? Couldn't you ever see…when you got together with him all that time later, that it fucking __**broke **__me!?" My whole body aches; I'm hunched over the little stainless steel table, staring into the eyes of a girl who'd loved both my step brother and I. _

"_I know it broke you" Isabella says viciously, she flips her fringe back and let's out a mocking laugh herself. "But you deserved it Phin. All that time" she cries. "ALL THAT TIME, you wanted him. So fuck, if you could lead me on like that than I had the __**right **__to tear you apart. And I wasn't the only one you fucking hurt. What about Baljeet? You __**disgust **__me Phin. You had a fucking boner on for your __**brother! **__And instead of manning up you just pussyfooted around admitting it! And you hurt people, you fucking hurt people." _

_I'm still crying "Shut up" I mutter, but the words are a jumble there's no way she understood. Isabella can __**never **__understand what she did to me. "I stayed with you because I didn't __**know, **__I didn't fucking know what I was feeling for a long time! SO YOU JUST SHUT UP!" Sobs wrack my body—malnourished, I have no desire to eat anymore—even when I try I just end up wretching it back up. I don't want to eat—I don't __**deserve **__to. I'm withering away and I couldn't care less. Because fuck, Ferb's dead. And I'm here, going through the motions without really being alive, I should be with him. _

_Isabella's fuming; her dark makeup is beginning to run down her cheeks in smoky rivulets. Let her cry, let her squirm. Maybe I do deserve the death sentence—hell I know I do—but so does she. For what she did to us all. She ruined us. No. It was some greater power; some greater power that decided the world needed another Romeo and Juliet. A Romeo and Juliet that took the form of two boys who had been more than brothers—best friends-- since birth. Whatever that greater power is…it's twisted, it likes raping hearts and blurring minds and fucking up friendships beyond repair. That's what happened with Isabella and I. Because no matter how much time passes…we will never, __**never **__be alright with eachother again. We both wanted the same thing. And it tore us apart. But none of that is—was—important when he was still here. I could never care about Isabella as much as I cared about Ferb. Even now that he's gone she means nothing to me. Cos once you have that something—nothing can ever take its place or compare to it. Ferb was that something. And without him---what's the point? Life has no meaning. Days pass by like eras, nights are never-ending. And the Stiletto wearing rock journalist sitting across from me can never know what this feels like. This emptiness. I'm beyond caring, and it isn't beautiful or breathtaking it's a fucking mess. I'm not gorgeous, not filled with stardust. I'm just drained, my tragedy is gut punching and heart wrenching and nauseating yeah, but there's nothing desirable about it. To be this—broken…never wish for it. It may be thought that to feel such __**raw **__emotion would be---epic, and really…it __**is. **__But I pine for simpler times. When Ferb—Oh God…Ferb—and I used to sit with our backs pressed against the old Oak in our yard and bask in the summer sun. That's all gone—and I'll __**never **__get it back. That's what really gnaws at me, the realization that this isn't all a nightmare…it happened. I did something---terrible, unforgivable…worthy of nothing less than death. And that isn't even the half of it. _

_**Meat-eating orchids forgive no one just yet**_

_**Cut myself on angel hair and baby's breath**_

_**Broken hymen of 'Your Highness', I'm left black**_

_**Throw down your umbilical noose so I can climb right back**_

_**Hey! Wait! I got a new complaint**_

_**Forever in debt to your priceless advice**_

_**Hey! Wait! I got a new complaint**_

_**Forever in debt to your priceless advice**_

_**Hey! Wait! I've got a new complaint**_

_**Forever in debt to your priceless advice**_

_**Your advice**_

_**She eyes me like a Pisces when I am weak**_

_**I've been locked inside your heart-shaped box for weeks**_

_**I've been drawn into your magnet tar pit trap**_

_**I wish I could eat your cancer when you turn black**_

_**Hey! Wait! I got a new complaint**_

_**Forever in debt to your priceless advice**_

_**Hey! Wait! I got a new complaint**_

_**Forever in debt to your priceless advice**_

_**Hey! Wait! I got a new complaint**_

_**Forever in debt to your priceless advice**_

_**Your advice, your advice, your advice**_

**PS: If you're slightly confused by some things in this chapter don't worry, everything will be cleared up in future writing [=**


	4. Look Out You Rock N' Rollers

**Here's chapter 4! I really like the beginning of this chapter, up until they get to the Recording Studio, then things get a little rushed. But trust me—goddamn there's SO much to come. And now that they're recording stuff, we're gonna be getting into the heavy lyrics and the confusion and the rush and the exhilaration of a rising star. Please R&R, again I LOVE my reviewers, you're what keeps me writing this! Thankyou SO SO much. So, I REALLY REAAAAAAALY recommend that you all watch Brothers of the Head or at least listen to the music. Because as I said before The Highlighters' music is gonna be the songs The Bang Bang write on Brothers of the Head. So, yeah. And also the movie totally captures the ominous feeling of this story! I really hope you like it!!!**

**~~Mick~~!**

**Disclaimer: P&F and Changes- David Bowie aren't mine! **

_**Look Out You Rock N' Rollers**_

_**I still don't know what I was waiting for**_

_**And my time was running wild**_

_**A million dead-end streets**_

_**Every time I thought I'd got it made**_

_**It seemed the taste was not so sweet**_

_**So I turned myself to face me**_

_**But I've never caught a glimpse**_

_**Of how the others must see the faker**_

_**I'm much too fast to take that test**_

_**Ch-ch-ch-ch-Changes**_

_**(Turn and face the strain)**_

_**Ch-ch-Changes**_

_**Don't want to be a richer man**_

_**Ch-ch-ch-ch-Changes**_

_**(Turn and face the strain)**_

_**Ch-ch-Changes**_

_**Just gonna have to be a different man**_

_**Time may change me**_

_**But I can't trace time**_

"_You didn't __**deserve **__Ferb" Isabella snaps, she's so fucking close to crying, her formal front is gone—she's out for blood—because now it's personal. _

_I give her a level look "Neither did you" No one could ever, __**ever **__be good enough for Ferb Fletcher; he was __**epic **__in the flesh, he was striking, an irresistible enigma, a jigsaw puzzle with an infinite amount of pieces, no one ever really figured him out. Except for me…when I was a child at least. I've always wandered when I stopped being able to understand what was going on in his head. I don't know who changed…him or me. I still don't know. But maybe we both did. We switched places; Ferb became the charismatic front man. I faded into the background. He was the way I was supposed to be. Because even from day one it was all about him. The Highlighters was practically a one man act—it was The Ferb Show. And no one minded…cos Ferb was fucking…oh God…there's __**no **__word for it. He defied explanation. For those four, short fucking beautiful years he was __**the **__celebrity, he was Kurt and Janis and Sid and Jimi and Van Goh and fucking Alexander the Great…or Edgar Allen Poe. He was something breath taking and one-of-a-kind. A poet, a musician, an artist, a light in my slowly darkening world. Ferb was what everyone thought I would become…and I guess I just always kinda figured that being the person I was supposed to be would be somehow less…lonely. I guess I'll never know now. _

"_Ferb __**loved **__me!" Isabella screams, she's so raw. She's just fucking pleading for me to sock her in the face. To wipe that smug look out of her eyes. To make her hurt, like she's hurting me. Because no __**way **__did Ferb love her, not in the end anyways. And I know that's true because he fucking __**told **__me. But it was all so hazy. Those last months…filled with confusion and lust and a feeling that I couldn't quite place then but I can now—it was love…it was __**love. **__Pure and painful and ancient and tragically wonderful. Something that I'd never in my life felt before—and I still feel it but now instead of joy it brings only a deep, __**deep **__ache that hurts so much—__**so **__much—that I don't want to wake up ever again. An everlasting sleep would be a blessing not a curse. A sleep where I would dream only of the good times—no nightmares about Ferb standing over my bed, his perfect pale face smudged with dirt, his dress-shirt torn and buttoned up haphazardly, his long thin wrists covered in needle pocks—no none of that horror. And even now—with Isabella crying her black heart out—my mind drifts back to my childhood. Just me and my British step brother, my head resting on his shoulder, his lips pulled up in a warm carefree smile—there was no warning of what was to come—and maybe it was better that way, because if we'd had __**any **__idea of what would eventually happen—to this…to __**us—**__we would have killed ourselves there and then. Anything to avoid such heartbreaking travesty and such—glory. Because everyone knows that with fame comes tragedy—but still people pine to be known—until they finally get their wish—and then they feel sick with all of it, the pressure, the lights, the flashing cameras, every moment of your life on film—then they all wish that they'd never gotten famous at fucking all. Yet no one learns. It's such a shame that humans are so goddamn stupid. But it's in our nature to destroy ourselves. It really is. _

**March 2007**

Los Angelos California was just what I expected. It wasn't Hollywood but…it was **something **and as long as we were all together, laughing and grinning…it was absolutely perfect. Ferb arched back his neck, exposing that long ivory throat, sporting a few hickies here and there from God only knew who. His eyes were fucking **gleaming **and he just looked so…free…it was fantastic. An idiotic smile was plastered on Baljeet's russet skinned face, his hazel eyes danced with the lights coming from every possible angle. Buford's lips were parted in awe; his shoulder-length greasy black hair looked sharp beneath the catastrophic LA lights. And me…I couldn't place what I felt—I rarely could back then—but I knew that I was happy…and at least some of my wild personality returned, a smile ghosted my lips. It was spec-fucking-tacular.

"We made it!" The speaker was instantly recognizable—I mean, who could mistake a silky Brit accent in the middle of California? We all turned to Ferb Fletcher…and I noticed—I think I was the only one who did—a clear, sparkling trickle marring his too-white face. A teardrop…and suddenly I had the urge to breakdown and cry…not from the sheer happiness but…because an overwhelming premonition sunk into the pit of my stomach like a brick. It **was **all way too fucking great too last. That's when I really figured it out. And I was…**terrified…**what was to come? Would we be a one-hit wonder? Would we never make it? Or would we make it to the top…make fucking _history…_and be remembered forever? That's what scared me the most. Being remembered forever…being remembered as what? The public wouldn't ever **really **know us…so how would we be thought of? And those thoughts—plagued my mind constantly—but ran through my head in a fraction of a second. Ferb's eyes locked with mine—emerald, moss, pine needles--"We really fucking made it Phin"

I felt my lips shudder, my body shiver…_indescribable._ "Yeah man" I whispered, throwing my arm around my step brother's bony shoulders. "We really fucking did"

Baljeet pumped his fist into the smoggy air; his teeth were bright—almost glowing—white against his dark complexion. A blue bandanna had been tied around his head, his black hair—streaked with undertones of earthy red brown—was coated in hairspray and backcombed. "We're in LA!" He beamed, jumping skywards, his feet landed back down on the sidewalk with a satisfying smack. "I can't even believe this" Baljeet stretched his arms out and closed his large eyes blissfully, his thick—not as full as Ferb's but still pretty—ruby red lips formed a sugary smile.

Buford wore a lazy-tom-cat grin. He wasn't overweight anymore, just—big. He was tall and pale—although not as tall or as pale—as Ferb and extremely well muscled...scarily strong. He punched our Indian rhythm guitarist in the arm—hard--and chuckled "Shut up Jeet, you're makin' us look like a bunch of tards"

Baljeet glanced back at the larger boy and smirked "BUFORD VON STOMM IS GAY!" He screamed without warning. And that was why Baljeet was part of The Highlighters. The scrawny little Indian; Baljeet Jamal Patel who had been **so **obsessed with his grades as a kid, was crazy, unpredictable…a real wild child. Mischievous, grinning like he knew something that you didn't, always with that **glint **in his eyes. Good old Buford Von Stomm was just about little Baljeet's utter opposite. Meaty, massive, with cold blue eyes and horse-thick hair. He was solid, he used to be somewhat of a bully but with age he matured, of course Buford was still the most violent of us. Although both Baljeet and I had our moments—Ferb was the real peace maker of the group.

"Shut up you little Indian rat!" Buford growled, clamping his huge hand down over Baljeet's shit-eating grin. Ferb observed them with a small smile; I still had my arm flung over his shoulders. But he had his arm wrapped around someone else's waist. And it almost made me throw up. They weren't official—hell they weren't even together—but Ferb, **my **Ferb and Miss Isabella Garcia-Shapiro—were getting closer and closer. I felt something tug my insides around uncomfortably. Why? Why was I feeling this way? What was the feeling? I couldn't have known…but I just hated, **hated **that Ferb was beginning to claim what wasn't his. But that really wasn't it at all—because I wasn't jealous of Ferb in the slightest, would I have felt so different if he was with Vanessa Doofenshmirtz? And the answer was no. Because I didn't want the girls. They were the ones I envied. How could I have no realized then that Ferb was what I wanted? I guess I did realize it—half realization blended with being in-denial. He was my step brother for Christ's sake. We'd been raised as brothers—but there had always been something more hasn't there? We were best friends. There was a connection. I used to be able to breathe in sync, walk in step, read his fucking mind. How—when did that change? I gave him a melancholy stare.

I shook my head to snap out of the awkward daze only to hear Baljeet laughingly yell; "Help Phin!" Buford had him pinned against the side of a Bistro restaurant; both of them were giggling their guts out like a couple of school girls. That made me smile. More importantly it took my mind off Ferb and Isabella, who were standing; smiling like the world was perfect. I remembered when that's what Ferb used to do with me. We'd just…**be **and it was the most beautiful thing in the entire universe. So I shook my head, bit down on my lip until I tasted copper and then ran to join Buford and Baljeet's mock-wrestling match. Forget it.

"Oi!" Ferb called, his mouth was formed into a smirk. A gorgeous twist of flesh that was so eye-pleasing. "We've oughta go meet up with Paul!" Paul Sedgwick, the man who had enough faith in our band to bring The Highlighter to Cali. He worked for Geffen Records—the label that Guns N' Roses made legendary—and wanted to get us a contract. Ferb nudged Isabella "What's the time?"

Isabella's eyes fluttered down to her wrist watch, she was wearing metallic blue eyeshadow. "2:30, why?"

"Shit!" Baljeet cursed, his eyebrows shooting up under his bangs "Our consultation is at 3 isn't it?" He still spoke with an accent, the way he said 'is' made it sound like 'eez'.

"Let's go guys!" I exclaimed with feigned enthusiasm, truth was the hard-shelled bass case thrown over my shoulder was getting ridiculously heavy. I imagine Ferb and Baljeet with their guitars and Buford with his drum kit felt the same.

-----------

The inside of the Geffen Records building was even more beautiful than its immaculate outside. Potted plants sat at either side of the glass doors and a secretary—the type that Baljeet would always hit on—greeted us. "Do you have an appointment?" she asked, looking up at us from beneath spectacles and mascara.

Baljeet leaned over the counter "Why yes…yes we do, we're The Highlighters" The way he said it wasn't honey smooth of course because of his high-pitched Indian accent. It was kinda cute. Cute? Baljeet, cute? What was wrong with my head? "And we have an appointment with a Mr…" He looked back at any of us to provide a name.

With a roll of his grassy green optics Ferb purred "Mr. Paul Sedgwick"

"Oh, well it seems that he's on his lunch break" The secretary gave a too-sweet smile.

"Look" I leaned down to read her nametag "Maria" My voice dripped malice and sarcasm. "We have an appointment with the dude at 3 o' fucking clock. It's 3 right now" It's not like my patience hadn't already been dwindled down enough. I couldn't take this little blue eyed Aryan blonde with her double D's and skirt suit. "So where the FUCK is Mr. Fucking Sedgwick"

"Phin--"

"Are these kids giving you any trouble Maria?" The voice was rumbling, deep…even Buford looked slightly unnerved by it.

Maria squinted "They were just looking for you Mr. Sedgwick"

The man was tall—6 feet probably and had a full beard and scraggly hair. The only thing that kept him from looking like a hobo was his high end black suit. "The Highlighters" He gave us a nod. "Come back to Studio 7" Once we'd gotten settled into the room Paul smiled "Now show me what you kids have got"

The butterflies pounding my stomach were un-ignorable. Ferb saw my dismay, he grabbed my hand thoughtlessly, reassuringly "We fucking made it Phin"

If only I knew then how short, sweet and agonizing fame really was…

-------------

"_I would have shot myself dead" _

"_It's not your fault" Isabella says around clenched teeth. She's still seething but her boiling anger is settling. "My mother used to tell me that--"_

"_I don't care" And I don't—how can I? "I don't care Is" My breath hitches, for a second I think I'm going to die but of course I don't—that would be too perfect. "Because out of all of us he's the one who deserved to grow up and it's more my fault than you'll ever fucking know" _

_**I watch the ripples change their size**_

_**But never leave the stream**_

_**Of warm impermanence and**_

_**So the days float through my eyes**_

_**But still the days seem the same**_

_**And these children that you spit on**_

_**As they try to change their worlds**_

_**Are immune to your consultations**_

_**They're quite aware of what they're going through**_

_**Ch-ch-ch-ch-Changes**_

_**(Turn and face the strain)**_

_**Ch-ch-Changes**_

_**Don't tell t hem to grow up and out of it**_

_**Ch-ch-ch-ch-Changes**_

_**(Turn and face the strain)**_

_**Ch-ch-Changes**_

_**Where's your shame**_

_**You've left us up to our necks in it**_

_**Time may change me**_

_**But you can't trace time**_

_**Strange fascination, fascinating me**_

_**Changes are taking the pace I'm going through**_

_**Ch-ch-ch-ch-Changes**_

_**(Turn and face the strain)**_

_**Ch-ch-Changes**_

_**Oh, look out you rock 'n rollers**_


	5. Two Way Romeo

**I AM SOOOOOOOOO GOOD AT UPDATING…well this story at least. It's kinda the only one I do update frequently these days Hehehe. I update because of the fucking wonderful reviews I receive! Honestly I can never thank you enough or tell you how much reviews mean to me!!! So I actually like this chapter a lot. And yeah the ending of this chapter…don't worry…the story's far from over. The rest will be told by Phineas alone I think…well I'm starting the new chapter soon so yeah I'll see where that goes. But anywho you all must listen to the song Two-Way Romeo by The Bang Bang to really get the feeling of The Highlighters performance, the way the song is sung on Brothers of the Head is EXACTLY how Ferb sings it in this fic. And the new manager Mason Donnelly…he's gonna play an important part in how Ferb starts to break. You'll see why soon enough!! R&R darlings!**

**~~Peace, Love, Flowers, Puppies, Nirvana~~**

**~~Mick~~!**

**Two-Way Romeo**

_I'll never feel it again. Knowing it makes my fingers twitch inside my jeans pocket, stroking the sharpener blade I've indiscreetly tucked into it. No, I'm not a whiney, bitchy, attention whoring kid. They only feign pain for the looks they get. I wish I could say that I'm a whiney, bitchy, attention whoring kid, because anything would be better than…__**this. **__This emptiness. It's like I'm only a shell of my former self. Not really here and not quite there. Unsure, wounded…inconsolable. It sounds so main-stream…and so…fake but…everyone; __**everyone **__has one chance at love. And I lost mine. It's wrong. God…or whatever monster controls all the universes, the vortexes, the time warps, the parallel worlds…has a sick fantasy. It shatters people, feeds on their hurt, and takes pleasure in watching them __**break. **__And that's exactly what I am right now…broken and nothing in this world or any other can fix me. I hate sounding so cliché, I absolutely despise it. But broken, shattered, those are the only thing's that can somewhat describe what I'm going through. Only somewhat…because this is a trillion times worse than merely being shattered. To deserve this I must have been a horrible person in a thousand past lives. In a past life I was surely someone who tore apart lovers. Because that's just exactly what's befallen me. I'm making this out like I'm the victim…and that's fucking disgusting. Because I'm not, I pretend that I am…I've almost convinced myself. No. Ferb. Ferb is the real victim, he was the most breathtaking person of the millennia. For fuck's sake he was _Ferb Fletcher. _And if anyone didn't deserve all this tragedy it's him. He's the cause of this whole mess but also the rightful victim. Because he's the one who ended up dead. Everyone always thought that I was the optimist and he was the pessimist. Of course that was never true. It was the opposite. Yes Ferb was prone to ridiculous mood swings, but I was one who stopped seeing the good in the world when I hit puberty. I wanna be a kid again. I wanna be full of fire and charisma and passion. After turning sixteen I lost it. Ferb was the only person who could ever, __**ever **__bring the real Phineas out later in life. But maybe this…mess…maybe this mess __**is **__the real Phineas. And that practically makes me piss myself with fear. I don't want this to be me. _

_I'm Ugly._

_I'm Horrible._

_I'm Negative._

_I'm Nothing._

_I'm Stupid._

_I'm Evil._

_I'm Bad._

_I'm Not a Lover._

_I'm Not a Giver._

_I'm Not a Receiver._

_I'm Phineas Flynn._

_And I've done such a horrible thing that I've been damned to live onwards. Many people would say that it's a gift that my drug ravaged body is still alive. But they're wrong. I don't have the strength to do this. I can't pave my own road…it ended when he died. That's what true love is. Tragedy…when they're gone there's __**nothing **__left to live for. Yeah, my life is pretty much over. No, it __**is **__over. Why am I even doing this interview with Isabella? Why am I torturing myself? Prolonging my misery? _Because I deserve it. _I'm a murderer. I cut someone's—no not just _someone…_Ferb fucking Fletcher's—life short. He __**was **__the one who deserved to grow up. The only one with some chance at having a future. The rest of us fit the description that Johnny Rotten coined, it defines punk; No Future. _

"_Phin…" She sighs and brushes back her glossy raven fringe. How can she sit here like this? If she really loved him than why isn't she wrecked? Why is her hair luscious and her body supple and her personality so bloody indifferent? I can't even __**pretend **__to not care. I can't. _

"_What Isabella?" I stammer, my nose is runny and so are my eyes—I don't even want to see how dulled my irises have become. My lips—they're bruised like they've just been kissed, was my last kiss really only three days ago? Three days. It's impossible, because it's as if it's been an age since Ferb's mouth was on mine. And everyone found it sick. That we were step brothers and that we were so fucking in love. But I didn't—don't—care, because it…it was __**love **__man…real fucking love. _

"_Do you think he loved you?" Her voice sounds fierce and I'm almost scared for a moment. But then I remember…everything, and…what's there to be afraid of? _

_I squint; Isabella asks the question as if it's a challenge. But I know the answer. "Yeah, yeah he really fucking did"_

_Her rose red mouth twitches into a sneer—her face used to be so beautiful. "Ferb never loved you Phineas." _

_But despite how completely and totally destroyed I am—I keep my head high. "Shut, the __**hell **__up Is, you'll never know him like I did"_

**May 2007**

He made guitar playing look europhic, orgasmic. Lips parted, eyes half closed and shaggy hair hanging in his face. His expression was distorted with pleasure; on most the look wouldn't have been taken seriously but Ferb…he looked so…**genuine, **like strumming his bony fingers over his guitar really was erotic and better than sex could ever be. With a face like that…I didn't doubt it a bit. We'd been working with Paul Sedgwick for two months and so far recorded a few tracks, all of them covers save for what would make The Highlighters famous; Two-Way Romeo. But the world—the rap loving LA audience—had other plans. Ferb's tearing guitar solo was met with boos and a few stray beer bottles thrown onstage. If it were me I would have cowered, looked to the ground and left. But not Ferb. No fucking way man. He kept his chin up, moving his skinny body closer and closer to the writhing, screaming crowd. His lips grazed the mic and for a moment it looked like nothing was going to happen. Like he would stand there for all of eternity until the crowd approved us like they had back in Danville. But LA wasn't Danville and Ferb wasn't me. His lips pulled up in the most vicious sneer I'd ever set eyes on. A Sid Vicious worthy expression. And he just began snarling out the words. Really fucking screaming.

"_Bending the rules, touching the tools  
Don't make us feel fools  
You're looking cool, feel the crown jewels  
All the way home"_

Sung with his British accent Two-Way Romeo sounded even more retro and vile and bloody spectacular than usual. Ferb and of course the ever-perverted Baljeet made up the lyrics. I had a little input but nothing worth broadcasting. After he spat out the first prose we all fell in, Buford beat down on his drums and I bopped my head along with the low bass line I played. Baljeet jumped up front for background vocals. I sang background too but…not for Two-Way Romeo, that was theirs. But the whole two-way Romeo part was actually sort of about Ferb and I, I guess because we were always together…it was almost like we **were **twins. And that was what made me shoot down my feelings the most, the way I stared at him…longingly…it was sick. Fucking sick.

"_Two-way Romeo  
Giving me a bone-io  
Bang Bang it's alright  
Bang Bang thru the night  
Bang Bang thru a red light"_

And now he had that cock-sure smile on his thick lips. Like nothing in the world could bring him down. But I wasn't so sure of that. Because his eyes…behind the sparkling green irises, there was **something **that wavered, like he was vulnerable…terrified to lose it all. And why wouldn't he be terrified? I was scared out of my wits, I felt **too **real. I needed to fade. I needed something that would make me float away.

"_A touch is just a tear away  
A kiss is just a bang away  
Maybe I'll just stay away  
Make a quick get-away  
End up in a strange way  
Have a rest and that'll be ok  
I'll be ok  
We'll be alright"_

After those lines—sung with an arrogant smirk—the audience warmed up, if only slightly. They stopped pelting bottles and a few began to shake their heads to the pounding beat, reminiscent of 70's classic punk. Suddenly a strong smell assaulted my nostrils, it was sweet and bitter and delicious. Baljeet had lit up a joint. The smell was marijuana. I'd smoked it a few times. But not frequently like our Indian friend. He was a fucking pothead. I didn't know then that I would become something so much worse. While the audience stayed captivated by Ferb—and how couldn't they?—Baljeet tossed me the blunt. I plucked it between my lips and sighed, closing my eyes. The thick smoke curled up and tangled with my sweaty fire engine red hair. Everything was beautiful and pulsating and rocking. I could feel it all, I could feel Buford's anger—anger about parents that had never wanted him…Baljeet's lust—he just _wanted _everyone and then it hit me. I stumbled back but caught my balance by leaning against an amp. It was Ferb. Tears streaked his face, sweat slicked his pale body, he tossed back his grassy hair, but it was his eyes…they gave way to what he felt. And it was painful…he was just scared witless but grinning all the same. He lived with the moment...he **was **the moment. And as he sung, he swished his tall frame every which way. Bliss, he was in heaven just being there. Because now the crowd was cheering, Ferb put on such a heart stopping performance. His lips fell open; his eyes were hazy and bloodshot. He smiled slowly…slow in my weed-clouded mind but really he moved with the speed of a racehorse. The smile was fleeting and then he was sneering again in true punk fashion.

"_Two-way Romeo  
Giving me a bone-io  
Bang Bang it's alright  
Bang Bang thru the night  
Bang Bang thru a red light"_

"_Not always so happy to see you, you, you  
You're looking thru a 2-Way Mirror"_

He moaned into the microphone and pulled the strings of his Telecaster with feline like accuracy. Launching into an upbeat, daring solo. When it was over there was silence excluding Buford hitting the bass drum and symbols lightly and me still plucking at my bass. Ferb started into every pair of eyes, like he could read their minds. Again I found myself wondering when I stopped being able to read **his **mind. He smirked as he sang, still staring penetratingly at every being in the hot, sweaty bar.

"_You're looking cool  
Feel the crown jewels  
Where art thou now?"_

And I couldn't help but lean into Ferb and sing that one line 'Where are thou now?' with him. He gave me a stoned half grin and then twanged a guitar string. Was he trying to drive me crazy? Because every moment he was onstage was like he was preparing to take his clothes off. He made fucking **love **to that sunburst Fender Tele when he was up there. He was **born **for the stage man.

_Two-Way Romeo  
Giving me a bone-io  
Bang Bang it's alright  
Bang Bang thru the night  
Bang Bang it's alright  
Bang Bang thru the night  
Bang!  
Bang!  
Bang!  
Bang!  
_

Something inside him tweaked and he cried out the 'Bangs' with a finality that I didn't like one bit. But it was so passion filled. Like every moment on stage he was fighting for his life. Was he really that scared? If he was than he wasn't alone…cos I was just as terrified. Two-Way Romeo was over, and the audience was star struck. And that's when it started. Cheers', clapping, whoops and hollers and cries for more. But Paul pulled us off stage and gave us a grin. "Well done kiddos" He smiled warmly, and ushered us into the dressing room where a few skimpily clad females and a single man stood. "I'd like you all to meet Mason Donnelly, your new manager"

As soon as I set eyes on him I didn't like him, and by the way Ferb eyed him I could tell he felt the same. 'Mason' was small, 5'6 maybe, with greasy chestnut hair down to his chin and a stubbly beard. He had beady black eyes and a cigarette hanging from his mouth. "Ello'" He spoke with a dodgy British accent, it wasn't smooth like Ferb's it was choppy and grungy and mean. "The name's Mason"

Ferb tilted his head up, like he was better than all this. And for fucks sake he **was. **He caught eyes with me for a moment and smirked "I'm Phineas"

I got his game quickly and walked up to Mason, smiling all-too-sweetly "I'm Ferb"

"I'm Buford" Baljeet quipped from where he was stroking a blonde girl's bare thigh.

Mason frowned "Oi, I thought the green 'aired one was Ferb"

Ferb snorted, he stuck out his hand for our manager to shake but pulled away right before the older man could. "Kidding mate, I am Ferb"

I raised my brows and bit down on my lip, doing a mock bow "Phineas Flynn at your service. And that" I jammed a thumb backwards "Is Baljeet, the big guy is Buford"

After looking un-amused for a few moments Mason laughed uneasily "Bloody tricksters. I've oughta go make a phone call" His tiny black eyes appraised each of us and then he left the dressing room.

"That guys a real dick" Spat Ferb, he pulled a smoke from the pocket of his old jeans and lit up.

I took a drag off the cigarette and nodded "I don't like him either"

"I should go kick his ass" Growled Buford, pounding his meaty fist into the palm of his opposite hand. "I jus know he's gonna be trouble"

"No" Ferb exclaimed, he gathered us all—excluding Baljeet who'd mysteriously disappeared into the bathroom with the blonde girl—into a huddled circle. "We've oughta give him a go. After we're done with him he'll wish he never heard of The Highlighters" He laughed in a hushed tone and slapped my shoulder "Whaddaya say Phin?"

I grinned wickedly "Sounds like a plan"

* * *

_I sniffle pathetically—I'm as worthless as a parasite—I should be crushed "That was before it all went bad" _

"_Oh shut up Phin!" Isabella pushes back her chair and stands up, pacing the length of the hotel room, her Stiletto's clicking loudly on the glossed wood floor. "SHUT UP, stop talking about the good times…I lost Ferb too…and it hurts" _

_I can't take it. I __**can't **__fucking take it. "THAT'S IT, I CAN'T TAKE IT…THIS FUCKING INTERVIEW IS OVER!" I whip my stainless steel chair into the wall and dig my fingers into my greasy, lackluster hair. "DO YOU KNOW WHY? Because you have NO idea what 'hurting' really is!" I air quote 'hurting' bitterly and kick at the table we were only minutes ago sitting at. _

"_Who are you to say I'm not in pain?" Isabella shrieks, a tear rolls down her cheek, further marring her made up face. _

_I rip at my hair; scraggly strands hang between my fingers as I pull my hands away to cup my face, digging my bitten fingernails into my jaw. I need to feel the pain. The pain is the only thing that reassures me I'm still alive. But knowing I'm alive is no relief. I should be six feet under right now. "Isabella" I whimper, blood is gathered behind my fingernails and as I grasp her tweed jacket I leave traces of the crimson liquid. "Fuck…Isabella…you know that I loved him more…you fucking know" My voice is nothing, I'm nothing…my words are barely legible. I am but a breath of my former self. I am but broken lights of thee Ferb Fletcher. I'm losing it. I'm fucking losing it. I don't know how much longer I'll last. "You don't know what real agony is because…" Now that it comes down to it…I don't know if I can possibly admit it. "Because…"_

"_Because what Phineas" Isabella says lowly, it's like she's trying to calm me down…her hate has been replaced with pity and that disgusts me. _

_I'd rather have anybody's hate than their pity. If I tell her the truth she'll despise me. Anything to get that sympathetic look out of her eyes. And so I take a deep, long, hitching, hiccupping, sobbing breath. "I killed him Is" _

_Her thin dark eyebrows bend, her eyes widen "W—what?" _

_I gulp and let another tear trickle down my hollow cheeks. I'll never eat again. "You'll never know what real hurt is…because" I blow my nose into the sleeve of his purple sweater—Ferb's fucking hoodie…how can I deface it like this? "Because…I killed Ferb." _

_Only one word leaves her mouth...and in that moment she IS Ferb. Her drab brown eyes are for a second--bright un-ignorable emerald, her skin is creamy and ghost white and her hair changes from lengthly black tresses to a shocking green mullet. Her lips--painted scarlet--plump up and lighten to a rose tinted white. Her face thins out and becomes more angular and sharp. Beautiful, not Isabella--Ferb. I'm deranged...insane. And that one word that she speaks just about shatters my heart--if it can possibly be more shattered. "W-why?" But it's not Isabella who stammers brokenly--it's Ferb--and I just can't take it any longer. "Why?" _


	6. But The Pain Lingers On

**I'm sorry it took so long to update! I've just been busy with a bunch of crap lately but there's NO way in Hell I've given up on Highway Chile, this story is my most cherished fic on and I hope you all love this sadly short chapter! I've been getting less reviews lately also which doesn't help for the inspiration, you guys know your reviews are my lifeblood. I Love ya all! And I'm not NEARLY done this story. There's so much more to come it makes me feel all tingly. So please enjoy my beauties ;D and for fucks sake WATCH BROTHERS OF THE HEAD! =D**

**~~Peace, Love, Flowers, Puppies, Nirvana~~**

**~~Mick~~!**

**Disclaimer: Sadly P&F along with Goodbye Blue Sky by Pink Floyd aren't mine**

**PS: usually fucks up the spacing so I hope its not too confusing!**

_**Oooooooo ooo ooo ooo ooooh**_

_**Oooooooo ooo ooo ooo ooooh**_

_**Oooooooo ooo ooo ooo ooooh**_

_**Did-did-did-did-you see the frightened ones?**_

_**Did-did-did-did-you hear the falling bombs?**_

_**Did-did-did-did-you ever wonder why we had to run for shelter **_

_**When the promise of a brave new world **_

_**Unfurled beneath a clear blue sky?**_

_**But The Pain Lingers On**_

**June 2007**

"There's been a behaviorol' problem' with Ferb since the beginning mate" Mason explained helplessly.

"Well" Came the angered but sighing voice of Paul Sedgwick "I can't just watch the kid get beat up again and…"

"Oh" Baljeet snickered "Paul's gonna give it to heem guys" The lanky Indian currently had his ear pressed against the paper-thin wall of Studio 7. Ferb and I sat back against the wall opposite while Buford was sprawled on the floor sleeping in post-marijuana bliss.

Ferb's eyes were flat, a cigarette hung suspended from his mouth—the lovely lips were becoming chapped and cracked. His greasy, green bangs fell into his face and he didn't bother brushing them back. Something in him was starting to break. The skin around his right eye was bruised purple and swollen as was a patch of skin near his chin. He strummed Baljeet's acoustic guitar slowly, like he was in another world. Just staring through the walls. No one had ever slapped Ferb about like our dodgy Brit manager Mason Donnelly did. "_The only time I feel alright_" He sang, off-tune…like a scratchy record "_is by your side_" Even sung in a monotone I recognized the song…All Day And All Of Night by The Kinks. "_Girl…I want to be with you_" It wasn't Ferb—he had curled up into himself and now wore an armor of apathy…so maybe the hits would hurt less. "_all of the time, All day and all of the ni_-"

"Ferb" I shook his shoulder. He looked at me, his eyes were still glazed. As a kid Ferb rarely spoke—how many times have I repeated that?-…but it wasn't because he was scared or shy…it would be an affront to ever have called him that. But now…the silence was macabre…dead.

He grabbed a tall clear bottle of vodka and swigged down a few big gulps and then continued singing monotonously. "_All day and all of the night_"

I leaned over to whisper in his ear "Are you okay?" My lips brushed against his jaw. He just stared through me. But I felt his arm circle round my body and push my face so it laid in the crook of his neck. I breathed in his scent…cigarettes and alcohol and strange undertones of …wild flowers; of creek water…it reminded me of Danville. Of just how fucking far we were from home, my breath hitched and I pressed my face harder into his silky neck. "Please be okay" I whimpered. "Please" I was greeted with that unsettling silence I would soon become accustomed to. "Please be okay Ferb" I nuzzled into him.

"Do ya want me to leave so you guys can make out?" Baljeet snorted, pulling at the hacked up collar of his old Jack Daniels t-shirt. Speaking of Jack Daniels…I grabbed a bottle and chugged half of the amber liquid down…because what Baljeet was suggesting was exactly what I wished I could do.

"Shut up Jeet" I slugged back some more alcohol and felt my senses becoming clouded. "Shut up" The East Indian smirked in that signature shit-eating Baljeet Patel way. But there was something in his hazel eyes. Something that hid a layer beneath the glassy brown-green orbs. It was an emotion, an emotion that strayed far from the usually cocky Baljeet. Just what was it? Jealously? Resentment? Maybe even a dab of…hate? For who? What? Why? Since when? The questions flooded my mind and I quickly took another big sip of the Jack Daniels to tone everything down. But alcohol never really did it for me…neither did weed. It was far too weak to stop my mind from asking questions that I would've rather ignored. Baljeet Patel…it'd been so long since I'd seen him serious…actually I don't think I ever saw him being really meaningful…ever. He was a joke. Not in a bad way. He was just…always laughing, cracking a smile, getting into trouble and pushing people to their limits. Baljeet was the stereotypical bad boy. Ferb was the real troublemaker…prodding people till they had to leave was a game to him. Ferb Fletcher was in your face, and sometimes he went a bit over-fucking-board.

"I brought pizza!" The trilling female who then entered Studio 7 was the last person I wanted to see. You all know who it was; Isabella Garcia-Shapiro herself, wearing a skin-tight yellow tank top, black mini and fishnets. Her hair was permed into perfect night black waves that fell down her torso just so. I wanted to throw up all over her. She flaunted over to Ferb and I and placed a pizza across my legs. "Eat up!"

"What are you, his mother?" Baljeet chuckled, shaking his head.

"No" I gave Isabella an icy glare "She's a groupie innit she?"

Isabella fake-smiled "No, sorry to disappoint you Phin" My lips twitched downwards. The way she looked at Ferb—eating him up. It made me sick all over again. I slurped back the rest of the Jack Daniels and grimaced. "What's wrong, can't hold a little Jack?" She laughed haughtily and grabbed an elegant looking wine cooler.

"Oh shut up!" I snapped, I needed more…I wasn't completely gone. And I never could be. That's what I really needed…something that would make me invisible…make me disappear. I hooked my fingers about a thin bottle of coconut rum. I pressed the alcohol to my lips and squeezed my eyes shut, it was **so **sweet. So sweet but so strong. Yet when I opened my eyes again the scene hadn't changed; I was still leaned against my step brother with a greasy pizza box slapped across my lap and a black haired girl—one who denied being a groupie but so obviously was—sat facing me. Nothing in this fucking dimension could make me fade away as much as I pined to. Nothing.

"_Oh—oh my god" Her hollow, startled voice brings me back. But I don't wanna be brought back. I just wanna stay in the past…if only. "Oh my God…Phin" She's filled with nothing more than hate now, and maybe even a pin drop of genuine fear. Good. At least that disgusting bout of pity has left her face. Her pale hand clamors around in the pocket of the designer tweed jacket she wears for her cellphone but before she can dial I hook my fingers around her wrist and our eyes lock. She's terrified. _

"_What do you think you're doing?" The words come out robotically—this isn't me, please know that this isn't me. I'm as cold as she was before. No. I may not be able to stay in the past but there's no way that I'll ever become like Isabella. A sob catches in my throat. _

"_Calling the police" She answers, I gulp…that ache—that ache that never really left—is deep in my esophagus, I sob again. Tears. More warm, salty liquid trickles down my pallid face. _

"_Don't Is, please…don't" She sends me a baleful glare and moves to pull her delicate wrist free. No, I keep my grip tight, clenching so hard that I feel the bone and the veins grate with horrifying clarity. "I didn't mean to" I allow my hand to fall slack from her arm and then drop to the floor on the torn-out knees of my unwashed jeans. "I—I didn't mean to" I barely manage to choke out the words before I press my face against her smooth legs and begin sobbing, my body shaking like a leaf amidst a hurricane. "I didn't—oh fuck man" I lift one hand and start ripping at my long, greasy hair. "I never wanted to—no—I" I can't stand it. So many emotions flood me at once. I don't know whether to continue crying my eyes out or to shove the raven haired woman away. I choose the latter option. I choose to bolt—like Ferb did so many times when it all began turning to ashes. I have to get out of here. The cheap, dingy hotel room has somehow become painfully claustrophobic in the past five minutes. My eyes are as wide as a deer's as I run headlong towards the door and fling it open. _

_She stands dumbstruck in the middle of the room, the buttons on the cuffs of her jacket torn out and her legs slick with tears. "Phin—w—why?" _

_I can't answer her straightly. There's so much she never knew. So much no one will ever know. "Goodbye Isabella" Neither she nor I know that those are the last words I'll ever speak. _

_Heat. The type of heat that gives you headaches and feels ominous. That's what it's like outside. As soon as I leave the hotel's comforting cold I'm slapped with a whoosh of too-hot air, the sky is overcast but the sun still shines agonizingly bright against its flat silty backdrop. My skin becomes sticky with sweat almost instantly and I gasp. It's too real, I need to fade. I've always had this desire to be invisible…to be numb to the world…and only one thing does it for me. Now. I need it now. I unthinkingly start picking at my wrist-my fingernails are ragged and chewed- and soon enough my arm is dotted with thin red lines. Fuck. Perspiration trickles from beneath my shaggy red bangs and down into my eyes. I don't even bother to blink it away. I'm becoming what he was—no not the legend, not the charismatic leader—I'm becoming the addict. It's like the atmosphere is holding its breath, ready to release a downpour any second. The pressure is almost too much; I nearly tear my wrist open waiting for the rain. But as I walk down the sidewalk to our—to my—apartment it comes. Cool, heavy rain that trickles beneath my shirt and down my back, coating my greasy hair and catching on my eyelashes—and it makes me wanna scream. It's the type of rain that is beautiful from a distance. But when you're amongst the downpour—and it's fucking pouring, harder than ever—the beauty is lost. It's a perfect mix of hot and cold, humid and smoggy. I can't breathe. Everything's wrong. It's too bright out, lightening slices through the purple-grey sky and thunder pounds out a deafening beat. No. No. This isn't right. It's all too loud and chaotic—kind of like The Highlighters final months—and there's a grim feel in the air. Only one more block and I'm there. One more block. But that's the thing. I don't know if I'll make it. I'm reminded of something that Ferb once said; 'It feels like I have hellhounds on my tail', yeah, he knew he didn't have much time left. And now the feeling has passed onto me. Isabella's fear back in the hotel is nothing compared to what I feel right now. Confusion. It's still raining harder than usual. The sky is much brighter than nature intended-but it's not only the sky, everything has taken on some strange light. Wind whips back the palm tree's and blows garbage onto the high-end cars parked on Sunset Blvd. _

_When I finally get into the apartment—slamming the door behind me and locking every bolt-it's still storming but the sun shines on through. That's wrong. Oh god. Why did he have to love photos so goddamn much? The walls are littered with posters, tickets, gum-wrappers from all around the world and photos—so many photos of our lives. Of Ferb and I sitting beneath the Oak, asleep with our heads against eachother. Of The Highlighters on stage, Ferb wretching out the vocals with the most passion he could muster. Then the more recent ones—where we both look paler, like ghosts almost, our hair dull and the eyes—while mine look lackluster he never lost that sparkle. That glint that maybe everything __**would **__be okay. I stole the glint when I stole his life. I'm a fucking monster. Baljeet was right. Suddenly something catches my eye—something that I never seen before and I frown. A burgundy envelope with messy writing scrawled into it; 'To All Those Who Care', I recognize Ferb's handwriting immediately and take out the letter. As my eyes scan what's penned into the loose-leaf I feel myself dropping off into insanity. No. Please God no. I drive my nails down into my wrist and bite my lip until it feels like the tooth will break through. But it does nothing. The flames are all long gone. But the pain lingers on. _

_**Oooooooo ooo ooo ooo ooooh **_

_**Oooooooo ooo ooo ooo ooooh**_

_**Did-did-did-did-you see the frightened ones?**_

_**Did-did-did-did-you hear the falling bombs?**_

_**The flames are all long gone, but the pain lingers on.**_

_**Goodbye, blue sky**_

_**Goodbye, blue sky.**_

_**Goodbye.**_

_**Goodbye.**_


	7. Rosemary

**Yes I finally fucking updated! It's a miracle ;D So. I've decided that once I've finished Highway Chile I am most definitely writing a sequel called 'Free Bird' done in Ferb's point of view! Which I hope you will all read ;D And over the weekend I noticed something. There are always love triangles in "rockumentaries". Like Tom, Barry and Laura in Brothers of the Head [which you ALL need to watch] and David, Nigel and Jeanine in This Is Spinal Tap [which has nothing to do with this story but is just a fucking fabulous film!]. Anywho if you need ANY clarifications on this chapter or any other just message me. And PLEASE review, I hate to beg, but honestly I have sorta been getting less and less. Which totally fails. Because your reviews—knowing that you're interested—really are what keeps me writing. Highway Chile is far from over and Free Bird is next!**

**~~Peace, Love, Flowers, Puppies, Nirvana~**

**~~Mick~~!**

**Disclaimer: You know the drill. I do not own P&F or Rosemary by the amazing Grateful Dead **

_**Boots were made of leather a breath of cologne**_

_**The mirror was a window, she sat by alone**_

_**All around her the garden grew**_

_**Scarlet and purple and crimson and blue**_

_**Rosemary**_

_The mattress feels lumpy and awkward beneath my borderline-anorexic form. I dare not look at the sheets for fear they'll be blood stained—his crimson, his tears. My eyes stay locked on the ceiling instead. I try to find pictures in the twisted plaster but all I see is his face-the too bright, too green eyes, the teeth that were always a little sharper and more carnivorous than they should've been, the pale elfish features. This isn't a matter of guilt, this is Hell. I don't know whether I'm dead or alive, breathing or still. I peel my wife-beater off and instead wrap Ferb's purple hoodie around my sweat slick body. My mind is going into overdrive, delving into the deepest pits of myself to see if there's anything left. But there's not, I'm nothing now. I slide the razorblade from my jeans pocket and hold it up to the light, not moving my eyes once, the motions seem robotic…zombie-like…dead. The blade glistens; I bring it down on my bare chest and absentmindedly slash. Maybe there's still some chance, maybe I can bleed the monster out, but I can't and I know it. The deep rivets in my chest pool with blood and slowly bubble over, splashing warm, stinging liquid all over the bed, I can only hope it'll cover up his spilt blood. But it'll never cover up what I've done. Cutting myself open…it'll never fix anything, bleeding the monster out is impossible. No. I wince, the pain of fresh wounds slap me angrily. What have I done? I sniffle pathetically and push myself up and out of the bed._

_Standing in front of the mirror makes me nauseous. What have I become? My skin is white—no, it's grey—the hollows beneath my eyes are incredibly deep, my eyes themselves are sunken in as are my pallid cheeks. My hair—now a dull auburn-ish color—hangs down past my chin in greasy, dead strands, my ribcage pops out of my torso visibly and the skin is pulled taught over the wrack of bones. My jeans—skinny as they are—are practically slipping off my waist and down my legs I'm so fucking thin. I'm disgusting. Skin and bones and owl-large-eyes and greasy hair. A joke of a human being. Barely a breath of what I once was. I flop back down on the bed and fist the bloody, grimy sheets. Nothing can fix me. Not cutting, not getting help, not comfort…nothing, I'm absolutely beyond repair. _

_All I can do is stare at the ceiling—cracked and dirty, once white but now yellowing—and aimlessly try to find images in it that'll never really be there. _

_His face. _

_I see nothing but Ferb's face._

_Fuck. I dig my fingernails into my stomach and wretch out a gut load of vomit all over the floor. _

_Again. And again. _

_I've hacked out all the raw vodka—the only thing I've drank since his death-and now there's nothing left to come up. Just this emptiness. _

_Is this all I can do?_

_**IS THIS ALL I CAN DO?**_

_Lye on our bed, burning holes into the ceiling with my blank stare, while __**everything **__crumbles down around me? Is this it? Is this my life? Is this __**all **__that's left? I throw my torso forward and begin coughing loudly, a drop of saliva drips down my chin when the fit is over. I spit carelessly onto the bedroom floor and blindly reach for my pack of John Player's. Cigarettes have always calmed my nerves, at least until three days ago. The smoke drenching my lungs and unfurling its long chalky tendrils skywards does nothing for my jumpy stomach, pounding headache and hollowness now. The ache is the worst; that endless, nameless abyss in my throat. I only wish this pain was skin deep. I only wish people would laugh and tell me my life isn't that bad. I only wish I wasn't such a fucking piece of shit. I only wish I wasn't Phineas Flynn. _

**August 2007**

"**And that was The Highlighters with Two-Way Romeo, the song that single handedly brought punk back!" **

The grin on Ferb's face was unfaltering; he just looked so pleased about what the radio announcer had just exclaimed in that cheesy-perfectly-groomed-silky-smooth voice all radio announcers' posses. Baljeet was biting down on his lip so hard and jittering so much it seemed as if he was about to burst. But that may have just been the gram of coke he'd snorted earlier kicking in. "YES!" He suddenly screamed, leaping from his spot on the carpeted floor and throwing his arms up high. "I can't fucking beeleeve it guys!"

Mason's lip twitched up in a sneer. "Oi, we've still got a lot o' work to do before you all wank off"

"Shut up" Ferb murmured, and before anyone could do anything he stood up stiffly. "Come on Phin" I frowned a little but obliged and followed him out of the grotty living room and outside. "I can't stand 'im Phin!" Ferb snapped once we were far enough away to be out of hearing-range. "I jus can't" He leaned his forehead against the brick siding and sighed, suddenly his fists clenched and he punched the wall with a grunt. "FUCK!"

"I know" I leaned on the building next to him and stared up at the sky—bright blue splotched with creamy clouds. I groped sightlessly and found Ferb's hand. "It'll be okay Ferb"

"NO IT BLOODY WON'T!" His mossy eyes were filled with fire; tears clung to the long velvety lashes. "Can't you just STOP being so optimistic" Ferb whipped his skinny—too skinny—body around to face me. "For fucking once Phin!"

My jaw tightened "Optimistic?" I yelled "You think I'M fucking optimistic? Are you off your head? You know me better than to fucking say that Ferb!"

"Do I?" He growled right back, running a clammy hand though his dirty green hair. "Cos lately it seems like we're on different bloody wavelengths!" Ferb's voice cracked, his accent always seemed so much stronger when he was angry—and it just made me realize time and time again how different we really were.

"You wonder why?" I cried, my teeth bared. "Maybe it has something to do with you eye fucking my ex-girlfriend every time she's in the same room as we are!"

"You know nothing!" Ferb screamed in my face, his hot breath smelt like tobacco, vodka and marijuana—something that was becoming more and more common as our fame rose. But marijuana was the least of anybody's worries, because there was a telltale trail of white powder dusted around Ferb's nose. "Goddamit Phin…you know fucking nothing" The anger spiraled out; he hung his head and began sobbing. I squeezed Ferb's bony hand tight in mine and pulled him towards me, so his body pinned mine against the wall.

"Neither of us know anything" I whispered chokily. I lifted my other hand and stroked back Ferb's hair so his bangs flopped over one eye. He was so beautiful and so broken and so fucked up. We all were. "We're just a bunch of lost souls" I rasped, tears trickling down my face and dribbling down my chin.

Ferb traced his fingers over my cheek and wiped away a few tears. "What's happening to us Phin?" And he looked **so **scared-so genuinely afraid-that my stomach twisted up in a knot. "I'm so fucking scared" His voice seemed childlike and strangled. He began crying with more vigor than before, I breathed deeply and rested my chin on top of his head. My tears dripped into Ferb's hair and down his face, joining his own tears so that they became one. "Who are we?"

"You're Ferb Fletcher" I croaked out, trying my best to smile reassuringly.

The striking-emerald irises met my plain-blue ones and they were chalked up with so much emotion, so much meaning that I began sobbing all over again. "And you're Phineas Flynn"

"I love you man"

"I love you too Phin" We pressed our foreheads against eachother and Ferb let out a resonating sigh. "Promise me we'll always be together."

I cupped his thin face in my palm and smiled tearfully "I promise"

"_I promise" I speak aloud to the ceiling. And what more is there to say? "I fucking PROMISE" I choke out the final word and claw at my cheeks, a few ashes fall from the tip of my cigarette and burn slowly into my chest. I couldn't care less. The air in this room is stale and dank and so humid that I feel its weight crushing down on my ribs. That's it. I can't take this any longer. I jolt off of the bed and pace into the kitchen, pinching the bridge of my nose the whole way there. A spoon. A spoon. After tearing open three drawers—forks and knives are spilt all over the mangy tile floor—I find a slightly rusty silver spoon. Perfection. This is the only escape I have left besides…besides. _

_Death._

_Where did he put it…I gorge my sweaty hands in Ferb's dresser drawers. If only I could stop. If only I could stop thinking. Finally I come across the box, that simple black box that, in the end, he loved more than life. I seat myself on the floor, prop open the box and set down the spoon. Cotton swabs. A syringe. China White. _

_China White heroin and water on the spoon and with the flick of a bony wrist the flame of my rusting Zippo is heating it up. For a few split moments all I can hear is the helter skelter staccato beat of my heart. I roll a miniscule piece of cotton over my drug, the fluffy pad eagerly sops it up, almost as if it wants the smack more than even I do. But that's a lie. Because no way in hell is this measly cotton ball getting my China White. A tear falls down my face and pools in the hollow of one cheek as I suck heroin up into the grimy syringe. _

_It's Amber. And it glistens in the dirty light of his bedside lamp like a precious jewel. I don't bother cleaning my injection spot. I've over-used my arms and legs._

_So I guess it's come to this. _

_I pick up a small mirror and examine the area...surely it would work. _

_It worked for him after all. _

_I raise the syringe to my throat and pick around until a faint blue vein pops up. There. Now the tricky part. I remember when Ferb began doing it. I would hold the coarse black leather around his neck and he would shoot up. But I'm alone. And I'm breathing loudly and my blood is rushing. _

_Like a noose I wind the leather about myself. Cutting off the blood flow. Cutting off the oxygen. My chest is still oozing crimson. This will have to be fast. Precise. Pull back on the plunger he told me. Pull back on the plunger and if there's some blood you've hit a vein. Blood. Beautiful. _

_Finally I can be stained with the drug's potent release. Amber liquid flowing into my throat. Painfully slow. Then agonizingly fast. I can feel my head spin and my cracked lips pull up in a grin. _

_It's all in me. Maybe I can forget now—I can't, I've tried so many times these past three days and I know that I fucking can't—but fuck, it's worth another shot. No. It's not. _

_The Highlighters cover of Grateful Dead's 'Rosemary' is playing on the radio set by his dresser. Ferb's voice sung the song much more hauntingly than Jerry Garcia ever intended. Ferb. Green. Everything is a blur. But the lyrics are as clear as pool-water. I'm fine until I hear him rasp—with his delectable British accent—that one line. _

_**The garden was sealed when the flowers decayed**_

_**On the wall of the garden, a legend did say**_

_**"No one may come here, since no one may stay"**_

_What __**is**__ the garden? I find myself thinking again and again. The Garden. Is it Life? Is it Death? _

_Ferb told me the answer. In that letter. That letter that makes me think twice about how little heroin I injected myself with. I lean back against the bed, with the bloody, dirty sheets slick with my sweat. Eyes flutter shut. It all takes on an aqua hue. _

_And I remember. No matter how much I hate to. I fucking remember. _

_**She came dead, she went and at last went away**_

_**The garden was sealed when the flowers decayed**_

_**On the wall of the garden, a legend did say**_

_**"No one may come here, since no one may stay"**_


	8. Break Another Little Bit

**I know, I know. She updated! Yay. Now really guys, I'm sorry for the long waits between chapters I'm just lazy and deny being a no-life and going on the computer too much xD So here's the new installment of Highway Chile. I dunno, the ending of this chapter began to sicken me and I do apologize for that. I wrote it at 3 in the morning with a hangover and I'm too bloody lazy to make it any better. Because the next chapter will be much better, if you haven't noticed already Phineas' flashbacks are starting to become the majority of each chapter rather than his present-day depression, so it's about to get a helluva lot more exciting. Also, near the end I introduced the beginning lyrics of The Highlighters new song 'Sitting in a Car', originally from the movie Brothers of the Head [WATCH IT ;3] To tell you the truth I'm super pumped to start writing Free-Bird, I think Ferb's perspective will be easier to capture than Phin's which is difficult as hell to write. Anywho please enjoy and freakin review! I WILL GIVE YOU OREOS, CHOCOLATE MILK AND HICKIES IF YOU REVIEW ;D. Because I've been getting less . Anyways.**

**~Peace, Love, Flowers, Puppies, Nirvana~**

**~~Mick~~!**

**Disclaimer: Nope, Phineas and Ferb STILL isn't mine and neither is Piece Of My Heart by Janis Joplin**

_**Break Another Little Bit**_

_**Didn't I make you feel like you were the only man, well yeah,**_

_**An' didn't I give you nearly everything that a woman possibly can ?**_

_**Honey, you know I did!**_

_**And each time I tell myself that I, well I think I've had enough,**_

_**But I'm gonna show you, baby, that a woman can be tough.**_

_**I want you to come on, come on, come on, come on and take it,**_

_**Take another little piece of my heart now, baby, (break a..)**_

_**Break another little bit of my heart now, darling, yeah. (have a..)**_

_**Hey! Have another little piece of my heart now, baby, yeah.**_

_**You know you got it if it makes you feel good,**_

_**Oh yes indeed.**_

_I wonder if the coffin will be open._

_I wonder if maybe when I peer into the mahogany box—just…maybe—his eyelids will flutter—the delicately veined, ghost white skin will be warm to my touch and tinted rosily. _

_I hope beyond hope that his choppy mullet will be the color of summer grass and that his lips will be kiss-swollen and that his eyes—the most captivating thing he ever possessed—will be…alive. Just…just maybe the eyelashes will have stayed voluptuous, ink black and thick and the pupils—maybe they'll be bottomless pits as they always were in life—and his irises. With the forest green spokes and the glassy tone—inhuman, so fucking inhuman—if that one thing—his eyes—are alive…then maybe this whole thing can be mended. _

_For the first time in ages a soft smile makes its way onto my chapped mouth. As long as his eyes are alive. _

**Late August 2007**

"WOOWHOO!" I tilted my chin out the window of Mason's robins-egg-blue Mustang Shelby and laughed brightly.

"This is the fucking life!" Ferb cried, breathing out a line of smoke and steering sharply down the highway. I nodded—still smiling—and took a long swig of Captain Morgan's. Alcohol. Fucking sweet, painfully gorgeous alcohol. All four windows were rolled all the way down and the late-summer-breeze tousled our hair roughly. "Cali's so fucking beautiful in the summer" Ferb mused. "Here" He handed me his Export A and I passed him the rum. The alcohol flowing through our veins gave everything a muffled feeling.

"And we're just…" I couldn't find the words—when could I?—but Ferb embodied exactly what I was thinking. Because oh fuck did he have a way with words. For me the words never came but for the green eyed beauty in the driver's seat they just **flowed** through his emaciated body.

"We're just…sitting in a fucking car" He laughed loudly, baring all of those too-sharp-movie-star-perfect-but-yellowing teeth. The Mustang streaked past clubs, stores, palm tree dotted beaches. Against the night-black sky the city lights were sulfur yellow and neon bright. It was all a blur. I began laughing at nothing in particular. We were like a baby-blue bullet in Mason's Shelby. And sure we'd be dead meat when he found out that we took his antique car out for a drunken-joy-ride but seeing that fearless smile on Ferb's perfect lips made it all fucking worth it.

"Where are we?" Baljeet sat up groggily in the backseat, his usually dark skinned face looking rather pallid.

"Sitting in a car mate" Ferb replied, lighting up another cigarette and letting out tinkling laughter.

"Oh man" Baljeet propped his elbows against the armrest of my seat. His inky hair was flattened down on one side and spiked up in Glam Rock fashion on the other. His hazel eyes looked tired. "Do you guys wanna pull over for a meenite?"

"Why?" I grinned, killing the smoke Ferb gave me earlier and tossing it out the window.

"Cos" Baljeet's green-brown eyes met mine "I wanna do a line" At those words Ferb haphazardly swerved, the car scraped against the guardrail dangerously but that fearless, feral look never disappeared from his pretty face.

Tires crunched over gravel as we slowed to a halting stop. "You were saying?" Ferb slurred, his eyes were shut. Exposing those lengthly kohl black lashes and the soft eyelids and the pale flesh.

Baljeet ground his upper-teeth over his ruby mouth, his lips were chapped, his teeth discolored. Out of everyone he'd been living a life of excess for the longest. "Here" He trilled, handing Ferb a shiny silvery mirror and a razorblade. My heart leapt up to my throat. Slowly Baljeet poured out two thin stark-white lines, Ferb made sure they were perfectly aligned with his blade. The Indian gave the jewel eyed boy a look that I couldn't decipher.

"Should we let Phinny do a line?" Ferb smirked wickedly, catching onto what Baljeet was implying. In literally a split second he went from sweet and stoic to wild and leering, running a hand through his grass green mullet. That was the way Ferb was. Ridiculously moody. You never knew where you were with him.

Everything was suddenly too quiet around me. And dry. My tongue felt fuzzy and thick between my teeth. But one look into those desperate emerald irises—proving to be fatal yet again-and my decision was made. "Yeah, sure Jeet" A third line was laid to rest on the shimmering pocket-mirror. Ferb gave us both this lusty, completely-wild half grin and took a rolled up twenty dollar bill from the pocket of his old jeans jacket. Baljeet carefully held up the mirror and my step brother—my beautiful, angel faced step brother—snorted a fat line of cocaine, without hesitation, without any trouble. I uneasily found myself wandering just how many times had Ferb _done _this. Baljeet did his line next, when he was finished a europhic smile graced his crimson lips and there was this look in his eyes. And then he held out the mirror—shakily now—for me. I was passed the rolled-up twenty. "Uh" I stammered stupidly. I felt like a moron between the Rhythm Guitarist and the Singer. "I dunno"

"Oh right—shit" Ferb chuckled; he steadied my twitching hand and gently pressed the end of the money to the tip of the cocaine line. "Now snort it Phin" He whispered in my ear, his hot breath tickled my face and goosebumps popped up all over my body. I quickly moved the twenty over the drug and snorted it up into my left nostril. It stung. It stung like hell. I coughed loudly.

"Aww Pheen" Baljeet laughed and gave me the bottle of Captain Morgan's which I swigged from eagerly to stop my coughing fit. I moved my nose about uncomfortably for a few moments, feeling the powder inside of me. It was so _fucking _intense. "Feeling good?"

Without even really meaning to I found myself laughing loudly. "Oh fucking right I am Jeet!"

"And you Ferb?" Baljeet enquired; quirking an eyebrow so that it disappeared beneath his choppy black fringe.

"I love you" Ferb responded, mouth parted, shiny teeth revealed. I didn't like it. That expression. Like sex and fire and nirvana and just pure freedom. That's all he ever did—ever would—care about, Freedom.

Baljeet nodded knowingly and chuckled. "You guys are so high, but that's alright!" He exclaimed "Because fuck, so am I!"

For some reason this was absolutely _hilarious _and Ferb and I curled up into eachother, clutching our ribs and smiling so wide that it hurt. It was fuckin _rockin'. _I hadn't felt such happiness in so long, weed didn't do it, and alcohol didn't either. But this stuff…this cocaine. It was perfection. My body was rocking and moving and it was like we were invincible. "Holy fuck" I stammered, resting my cheek against Ferb's shoulder. "It's hot in here"

"It _is" _Baljeet replied with a devilish smirk that I just didn't trust. He peeled off his Guns N' Roses—the band he so worshipped—t-shirt nonchalantly.

My heart dropped into my stomach when I saw Ferb's eyes wander, down the arch of Baljeet's bony russet skinned back, over the concave of his skinny belly, the trail of ebony hair below his navel—which was pierced with a silver ring. Up over the Indian boy's chest, stopping at the pierced nipples and upwards to the gawky neck and then to his face. Even I had to admit Baljeet had a face to die for. With round cheeks, full lips, sparkling hazel eyes and long—longer even than Ferb's—eyelashes. "You're" Ferb swayed in the driver's seat, leaning one elbow dangerously close to the Mustang's horn. "You're bloody beautiful Jeet" He let out a single noted chuckle "Why the fuck have I never noticed that before?"

"Everyone notices sooner of lateer" Baljeet grinned cockily and fisted a lock of Ferb's mullet. And then he gave him the _look; _Baljeet Patel's signature 'I'd-rather-fuck-you-than-kiss-you' smile. My blood boiled.

"Pfft you wish" I laughed, yeah I laughed…I laughed when really my intestines were knotting themselves up and I felt my fists clenching, my slightly-crooked teeth grinding. "I'm definitely the sexiest here" I didn't realize till then that I was such an _amazing _liar, I could feign confidence like no other.

Ferb glanced at me and winked, my heart beat sped up but then plummeted. Because the boy with the glimmering eyes and green hair hooked his fingers into the back of Baljeet's hair and yanked him forwards, so their chests were pressed against eachother. He grinned wildly and smashed his mouth onto the Indian's; I heard their teeth clash, watched as they played tonsil hockey with their tongues bared shamelessly. I couldn't help it. Beneath the initial heart-breaking-disappointment—a feeling I'd soon be used too—I felt myself getting turned on. Disgusting. I shook my hair into my face and shoved open the Shelby's pretty blue door, slamming it behind me. They didn't even break the kiss. I hopped the guardrail—my body rocking and pumping with cocaine wild—and then let out a breath I didn't even realized I'd been holding. "Fuck it" I murmured to myself, beginning to run. There was a beach only a walk away. And I was running headlong onto the bleach white—cold with night—sand. I collapsed and began tearing up. "Stupid, stupid, stupid" I winced, fingering the sand—millions and millions of miniscule rocks, somehow spread out across the universe. And the sky was black and studded with sparkling stars. It would have been fucking perfection. If we'd been together. I took my almost-dead Bic lighter from one pocket, a cigarette from the other and lit up. The tip of the death-stick was the only light for miles. I let out a choked sob. Idiocy. Fucking idiocy. Smoke twisted and turned in the air with all the grace of a ballerina and my body shook.

And just when I thought my heart couldn't possibly hurt anymore than it did it those moments—star gazing, completely and utterly alone—I heard him laugh, from so far away but the sound still reverberated through my body. I could hear the smile on his voice, could hear as Baljeet pushed him up against the cold metal of Mason's Shelby. I sniffled and wiped my nose on the hem of my t-shirt.

I smashed my fist into the sand. Then slowly I extended one finger and jammed it into the earth. '_You've broken me'. _And suddenly there were footsteps breaking the sand and sending it flying every which way. Ferb slid to the ground beside me, grinning from ear to ear with his lips swollen and hickies marring his skin. "Oi Phin"

I quickly swiped away the writing in the sand and looked at him. How many times did I do that? Just…stare. His beauty never ceased to awe me and my feelings never ceased to nauseate me. "H-hey"

"Right. I thought of this rockin' song. Alright" Ferb raised his palms, laughing. Still oh so high. "Listen to this." He hummed out a tune "And I'll sing the lyrics, but you've oughta picture it with the tune right"

"O—kay?" I nodded, a little taken by his apparent never-ending energy. Always so reckless and brash and wild.

He nodded his head of emerald hair for a few seconds and then the words flowed from his lips. His whole…being, it just pulsated with electricity. I shivered. _"Looking through the window there's three people in this car, Don't know where we're going, could be far, There's trees and lampposts and people out in the streets, People in trousers, skirts and the shoes on their feet. _Well that's it so far. But, what do you think Phinny?"

I choked out a chuckle and inhaled shakily. "I'm thinking you're starting to become some sort of musical genius" And I really was. The ache in the pit of my belly was beginning to fade. Why was it that just one look, just one smile from Ferb Fletcher could make all the problems in my world better? But then again. Just as easily as he could bring me up, the glow of his irises and the flash of his lips could tear me right back down.

_**You're out on the streets looking good, and baby,**_

_**Deep down in your heart I guess you know that it ain't right,**_

_**Never never never never never never never hear me when I cry at night.**_

_**Baby, I cry all the time!**_

_**And each time I tell myself that I, well I can't stand the pain,**_

_**But when you hold me in your arms, I'll sing it once again.**_

_**I'll say come on, come on, come on, come on, yeah take it!**_

_**Take another little piece of my heart now, baby. (break a..)**_

_**Break another little bit of my heart now, darling, yeah, (come on…)**_

_**Have another little piece of my heart now, baby, yeah.**_

_**Well, You know you got it, child, if it makes you feel good **_

_**I need you to come on, come on, come on, come on and take it,**_

_**Take another little piece of my heart now, baby. (break a…)**_

_**Break another little bit of my heart, darling, yeah. (have a)**_

_**Have another little piece of my heart now, baby,**_

_**You know you got it (waaaaahhh)**_

_**Take a…Take another little piece of my heart now, baby. (break a…)**_

_**Break another little bit of my heart, and darling, yeah yeah (have a)**_

_**Have another little piece of my heart now, baby,**_

_**You know you got it, child, if it makes you feel good**_


	9. But He Was the Sky

**Ah yes, welcome to chapter—I fucking forget what—of Highway Chile, the only story I ever seem to update these days. But it's all alright right? Because those of you beautiful people who are reading this droning, shitty Authors Note are readers of HC so YAY. Anywho what was I gonna say…Mm yes, well some parts of this chapter—dialogue and all—are straight from Brothers of the Head (FUCKING WATCH IT!) And uhm if you choose to read on you'll see that yes, now we're getting more into Phin and Ferb's strange, psychologically wild, yet platonic—borderline physical- relationship. It's only September 2007 in the world of The Highlighters. So, there's A LOT more to be said! R&R BECAUSE I'M THE KNIGHT IN SHINING ARMOR ALL OF YOU LADIES HAVE BEEN LOOKIN' FOR ;D**

**~~Peace, Love, Flowers, Puppies, Candy, Nirvana~~**

**~~Mick~~!**

**Disclaimer: Phineas & Ferb, Brothers of the Head and Mexico by the kick ass band CAKE (WHO I SEEN IN CONCERT ON SATURDAY IN MONTREAL, THEY WERE FUCKING ROCKIN') are not mine. Oh fuck yeah, this is what I wanted to clarify the whole time, in the lyrics to Mexico by CAKE I changed it up a bit; as in every time it said 'she' I replaced it with a 'he' so it'd suit the story. **

_**But He Was the Sky**_

_**I had a match, but he had a lighter**_

_**I had a flame, but he had a fire**_

_**I was bright, but he was much brighter**_

_**I was high, but he was the sky**_

_**Oh baby, I was bound for Mexico**_

_**Oh baby, I was bound to let you go**_

_**I don't know much about Cinco De Mayo**_

_**I'm never sure what it's all about **_

_**But I say I want you, and you don't believe me **_

_**You say you want me, but I've got my doubts **_

_**Oh baby, I was bound for Mexico**_

_**Oh baby, I was bound to let you go**_

**September 2007**

"Hurry up! Hurry the fuck up! He's gonna be here any minute" Mason paced across the floor of the recording studio, his cheesy motorcycle boots—shiny patent leather—grated over the burgundy carpeting loudly. "Aren't any of you fucking listening?"

Buford sent the man an icy glare and growled "If you'd shut yourfucking mouth for a minute maybe we'd be able to set up bud." 

"Oi" Mason tossed back his oily heather brown hair. "You can't talk to me like that" Suddenly his gaze shifted from Buford—sitting behind his drum set smoking a thick cigar—to Baljeet who was tuning his Les Paul with one hand while precariously balancing a Play Boy magazine in the other. "Baljeet" No matter how many times he repeated the Indian's name, Mason Donnelly would _never _pronounce it quite right. "OI" He strode over to the guitarist and snapped his fingers loudly in his face.

"What Mason" Baljeet sighed, not even bothering to look away from Miss September to talk to our manager.

"Put that bloody thing dow-" Something dawned on him. Slowly Mason's beady eyes scanned the room again. "Where the fuck are they?" He roared. "WHERE THE FUCK ARE PHIN AND FERB?"

"Fuck" Ferb rasped "He noticed" My lips fell open at the sound of loud footsteps nearing our current position right outside the door. "RUN" He hissed. The singer turned on the heel of his Chuck Taylor's while I stood stunned and deer-eyed, listening to Mason closing in. "Phin, come the fuck on!" When I didn't move he seized my hand. His long, thin fingers were cold in my grip. But it didn't matter. Because it was his hand, and it was touching mine.

"Oh shit" I snickered as we tore down the hallway. "WHERE THE FUCK ARE WE GOING?" I snorted, accomplishing little more than spattering left-over cocaine onto the back of Ferb's faded leather jacket.

"The fucking roof!" He was so sure that I didn't dare doubt him. "Go, go, go!" Maybe he didn't smile so much these days…but Christ, when he did, it was like those teeth and that conniving movement of lips could light up the darkest dark. Ferb stopped abruptly; his neck snapped back, the irises were in full view.

"What?" I whispered, gaping at the—the expression on his face.

I observed as his pretty mouth turned from a horrified O to a cocky half-grin. "He aint coming after us anymore"

I raised a fist to my mouth and began gnawing at my knuckles with cocaine addict—and now I could truly say that's what I was—tendency. "To the roof?"

"Hell yeah" And before I could reply Ferb whipped to the right and slammed open a door. Up the flight of stairs. Hallway. More stairs. Door. Hallway. Stairs. Just when I thought it would never end-and that me and the leader of The Highlighters would perish in this modern-day labyrinth-there was one last door. The boy with the mossy hair and bright eyes shoved it open with vigor. And lo and behold. Blue. A canvas of pitch perfect cerulean blue marred with ivory. The sky. "I knew we'd find it"

We. Even though everything Ferb did was done by himself he would always say 'we' did it. My heart leapt to my esophagus. "Fucking eh" I smiled cheekily. I lifted my fingers from his hand and grabbed his underweight wrist, I could feel the blood pumping through his thick blue veins and feeling it—feeling another persons…being. It just made me feel so fucking alive.

"Hey Phin?" Ferb muttered lightly, closing the door to the roof behind us.

"Yeah?"

"When I said we found it…I didn't mean we found the roof. I mean…I meant, we've—we've found _it. _Our lives. Our purpose." His deep gaze met mine. I knew than and there that an ageless, nameless soul had found its way into Rock N' Rolls newest rising—or was it falling?-star. "I know I'm jinxing this whole fucking gig by saying it but…we're gonna be famous. We're gonna make fucking history."

"How are you so sure?" I mouthed eyes half closed. I still grasped his boney arm and gently I rested my cheek against his shoulder, the leather of his coat was warm and fragrant.

"Because I dreamt it." Ferb replied. Again. The way he spoke. It's not that I didn't doubt it, I _couldn't. _That look in the shining pools of his pupils, the way the early-fall sun glared off the spokes of his penetrating irises-said it all. Ferb Fletcher would never be forgotten.

"Come on" I prodded, pulling the taller of us forward, until we stood at the very edge of Geffen Recording Studio. The tips of Ferb's holey Converse hung over the ledge.

"Imagine jumping" He murmured airily, with that far away look in those kaleidoscope eyes. "We're fuck—we're what, ten stories up? Just imagine…"

"You're not falling" I grinned "You're flying"

"With the wind in your face and the people look like ants miles below" Ferb replied, smiling, but then his smile slipped. "Shit is that-"

"OI! Whatchu doin' up there?" A million thoughts ran through my mind when Mason's voice screeched at us from two balcony's below.

"FUCK OFF" Ferb screamed right back at him. None of us had the guts to straight up tell Mason to fuck off like Ferb did, with the exception of Buford, but Buford started shit with everybody.

"I SWEAR TO GOD" Mason yelled, a cigarette poised between his grimy fingers. "IF YOU DON'T COME DOWN YOU WON'T BE IN A BAND, I'LL TAKE YOU BOTH HOME!"

"YOU FUCKING CUNT, YOU'LL BE OUT OF A JOB IF YOU TAKE US HOME!" Ferb sneered viciously, flipping his hair to one side.

"YOU NEED US MORE THAN WE NEED YOU!" I snarled as an afterthought, grinning almost as widely as Ferb was.

"GET DOWN HERE!" Mason roared at the top of his lungs, his face was flushed crimson, his thin lips twisted angrily.

Ferb smiled smugly down on the older man. "Sorry mate, what was that?" And that was it; Mason got off the balcony and went back inside, leaving us to laugh our asses off. "Poor bugger" Ferb smirked; he slid a cigarette from the waistline of his jeans and lit it. "But e' deserves it"

"Tell me about it" I breathed, eyeing the still-fading bruise ringing his left eye. I found myself incapable of even thinking about hurting Ferb…how Mason could do it was beyond me…he must've been some sort of monster to treat the boy-legend like he did.

"Do you wanna go back in Phin…do you wanna record our second original composition? Do you?" Ferb mused, his eyelashes flicked down against his cheekbones, and I noticed that they stuck there for a moment too long in wet tear-soaked triangles.

"Why're you crying?" I sighed into his ear, my bottom lip ghosted over the thick barbell poking through the lobe.

"I—I don't fucking know" His body convulsed in a sob "I don't fucking know Phin, I feel like this is the end but I know it's only the beginning. I just…I don't know what to do anymore"

I didn't understand, my optics narrowed, lips fell. How could he go from being on top of the world to a sobbing mess in a split second? Why? What was _wrong _with him? "Why?"

And again the mood flipped, from watery eyes to fire. "WHY?" Ferb screamed "I POUR MY FUCKING 'EART OUT AND ALL I GET IS A BLOODY WHY?" He let a couple of tears slide down his sunken in cheeks. "Sometimes I wander if -"

"If what?" I breathe my eyes wide as saucers.

"If you're really worth it"

Those words took my breath away. If…if I was worth it? "What do you mean?"

"Phin, for Christ's sake" Ferb's gaze sliced into the depths of my being. "We're perfection one moment and then the next we're chaos."

"It hurts"

"But I never wanna stop"

"Neither do I" A lump rose in my skinny throat, not because there was a chance he'd give up on me but because Ferb Fletcher had this way…this way of speaking as if we weren't just best friends—even then we were always more, we were two beings meant for eachother, just like Joan and Cherie and Kurt and Krist and Sid and Johnny and Mick and Keith, something fatal and unforgettable and just so incredible—he spoke like he would swipe his lips over mine in only moments. Of course he never did.

But then he parted his mouth and it was all I could focus on—the curving of that luscious pale-pink skin and those iridescent teeth and the hot tongue brushing along his lower lip line. He was the only thing in my world, and slowly, so slowly he closed in on me. Until I could feel his steamy breath on my own lips, and see the different shades of green in every silky, greasy strand of his choppy bangs. "Forever?" His voice wavered, scared, vulnerable…_so _vulnerable. Almost like everything in his universe depended on my fucking answer.

"Uhm…" We both swirled around to see Buford staring at us quizzically, rubbing the back of his pale neck awkwardly with one large hand. "Did—did I fucking interrupt anything?"

"No" I answered all too quickly.

"We…we were just coming down" Ferb purred calmly, I could still smell his wild breath and my knee's wobbled as a pathetic response to the bittersweet scent. But then I realized. He stuttered. Never in his life had Ferb stuttered before, and then, just…then, he hesitated when he spoke.

Buford-noticing too-shook his blue-black hair and turned to go back inside. "Well hurry it up before I make you!" He called over his shoulder, smirking.

"Yeah, yeah" Ferb waved a pianist-delicate hand through the muggy Los Angeles air carelessly. Once we were alone he set his gaze on me—not on my eyes, but on _me, _on the slope of my jutting cheek bones and my sunken in blue optics—I know he knew I was beginning to break—just like he was. "El Pueblo de Nuestra Senora la Reina de los Angeles de Porciuncula"

I furrowed my brow "W-what? What does that mean?" Unpredictable, brash…but always done with so much class. That was Ferb Fletcher. The man. The myth. The legend. A shattered boy who knew exactly what he wanted, and whatever he wanted he fucking got.

"It's Los Angeles' full name"

"Al—alright?"

Ferb smiled—but it was a smile that reminded me of a broken mirror, a smile that was so fucking real it could never be repaired. ""It means The City of Angels" That's all Ferb said before stamping out his cigarette and striding away from me. But it was alright. Because he didn't need to say anything more.

_What wakes me from my temporary drug induced coma goes unknown for awhile. Until finally I realize that the banging isn't in my heavy head, it's somebody pounding their first on the door to our apartment. The first thing that crosses my mind—of course—is that Isabella called the cops and here they are. But no. If it were the LAPD they would've broken in by now._

_The second person I suspect to be at my door is Isabella Shapiro herself, tear stricken and wild with anger, brandishing her designer jacket and Jimmy Choo shoes. "OPEEN THE FUCKING DOOR" Alas no. That voice definitely isn't feminine. And it has an accent. A strong East Indian accent. _

"_Mrmm" I try to say his name but all that emerges from between my dehydrated lips is that barely-there murmur. _

"_PHIN, FOR CHRISTS SAKE" I hear him grab the doorknob and fiddle with it violently for awhile. There's an exasperated sigh and then the sound of the skinny Indian throwing his whole body against the door, pummeling it mercilessly over and over. _

_I don't want him in here, that's all I can think. But my body is numb, I couldn't move if my life depended on it—and it quite possibly might. "Mmm" _

_There's a resounding crash as three locks snap and then Baljeet's in the doorway, looking sweaty and defeated and wild. "Phin" He stammers, because there I am. Propped up against Ferb's bed with my chest sliced to ribbons and my eyes half closed with a dreamy smile on my wrecked face. "You're a fucking mess" He throttles one of my wrists between his dark, bony fingers and pulls me off the floor. _

"_I wrecked him" When I can finally say something, those are the only words I stumble upon, and all I can imagine is—if Ferb were in this situation he'd have so much more to say. _

"_Fuck" Baljeet hisses, his mottled irises pained. "Nobody wrecked Ferb…he wrecked heemself. Christ" He looks me over with—disgust? "We need to fuckeeing get you cleened up" My attempt to shoulder him off as I'm dragged to the bathroom is feeble. He twists on the hot water and sighs again "What happened to us all?"_

"_We broke" I whisper, grinning softly and stretching my arms out on either side. _

"_Are-" Baljeet shakes my shoulders roughly "Are you fucking stoned?" And though I could lie through my crooked teeth till my face turns blue the europhic smile on my lips says it all. "For fucks sake" _

"_El Pueblo de Nuestra Senora la Reina de los Angeles de Porciuncula" I mutter, and than I began to repeat those twelve words…like some sort of wicked incantation—when really I'm only slurring the name of the city that first built barriers between us. _

"_Wh—what?" Baljeet questions, a little too high pitched. He cups warm water in his calloused guitarist's hands and slowly rubs it onto my chest; I'm infatuated by the way the liquid glistens, running down my torso in little clear-red rivulets. When I don't reply Baljeet shakes me again "What were you saying Phin?"_

"_The City of Angels" I answer serenely. That aqua tint is back. Aqua tint my world. And my vision is beginning to cease, all I can see is blue. I hear Baljeet faintly—but it's all alright, he's a world away. This is the place Ferb used to murmur about on those nights when he was so trashed he couldn't recall anything the next morning, this is it. This was the Nirvana he always mentioned. I wonder—I wonder if Ferb ever did reach it. I mean…his heaven, his ultimate freedom…his fucking Nirvana. I feel my body—my real body in the real world—start to convulse harshly, and I think I'm falling into Baljeet's arms…but it doesn't really matter. I'm coming home. _

_**I had a match, but he had a lighter**_

_**I had a flame, but he had a fire**_

_**I was bright, but he was much brighter**_

_**I was high, but he was the sky**_

_**Oh baby, I was bound for Mexico**_

_**Oh baby, I was bound to let you go**_


	10. Dont Know Where We're Going,Could Be Far

**Holy fuck, I haven't updated in for-fucking-ever. And please, my wonderful beautiful readers, don't get me wrong. I won't ever abandon Highway Chile—my baby, haha. I've just been really busy with school…phaha, who am I kidding, I've just been doing a lot lately. I've actually had most of this chapter written for a really long time…but…I always feel like I don't do the story justice. Every chapter I post I meticulously re-read and realize I could have added something moving here and there. So, that's why waits between updates are usually so lengthly…because I'm afraid it's not perfection, so I keep adding. And maybe I'm ruining the essential beauty by doing that…I'm not sure. Anyways, I hope you're all still reading because there's no way I've given up on HC. Again, watch Brothers of the Head ;D You won't regret it. Please leave a review, they're what keeps me writing—along with the drive to tell Phin's story. **

**~Peace, Love, Flowers, Puppies, Nirvana~**

**~~Mick~~!**

**Disclaimer: P&F aren't mine, neither is the song 'Sitting in a Car' by The Bang Bang from Brothers of the Head.**

**October 2007**

_**Sitting in a Car**_

"_Looking through the window there's three people in this car, _

_Don't know where we're going, could be f-"_

"Ferb, Ferb" Paul rapped on the glass pane of the recording studio window. "Ferb, stop"

Through a thick sigh Ferb set down his Telecaster "Fuck!" he screamed into the microphone, Paul and Mason—both in their padded headphones—cringed. "What the fuck is it now Paul?" He'd dropped his polite act with our impresario awhile ago and there was no chance of it coming back now.

"You've just—you've gotta feel the song Fletcher, sing with some emotion. You did Two-Way Romeo and Rosemary perfectly, gimme some more of that gold kid" Mr. Sedgwick smiled warmly—and with his scraggly beard and massive height he just seemed all the more caring. "Come on"

"No" Ferb kinked and unkinked his long, skeletal fingers angrily, throwing aside his overgrown emerald bangs now and then. "Fuck it. I'm sorry Paul, I'm fucking done."

"Do you want to release an album or not!" Paul let down his I'm-your-best-friend guard coldly. "I'm paying for this; do you want Geffen to be your record label? Tell me Ferb. Is that a no?"

Taunting Ferb Fletcher was never a good idea. He defiantly threw his ivory chin skywards. "Oi Paul. Go fuck yourself!" He picked up his guitar, fuming.

"You ready Ferb?" Paul asked slowly.

"FUCK YOU"

Sedgwick took this as a yes. "The Highlighters, Sitting in a Car, take five"

Ferb ran those finely boned fingers down the neck of the instrument he so loved and then leaned his parted lips against the mic;

"_Looking through the window there's three people in this car, _

_Don't know where we're going, could be far_

_There's trees and lampposts and people out in the streets _

_People in trousers, skirts and the shoes on their feet"_

He snarled rather than sung the words, shredding the Tele's strings mercilessly. And then I got it. This was exactly what Paul wanted-hence the smug smile on his bearded face as he listened in on the recording—that's why he'd driven Ferb to this, he wanted the emotion—whether it be anger or frustration or joy or pain—to come through. Getting Ferb mad wasn't difficult either, he had zero patience and even if he knew being pissed off was exactly what somebody wanted from him he'd never cease to disappoint—no matter how hard he tried to be unpredictable there was always one constant; his hair-trigger temper. Say one thing and he would flip on you or burst into tears or laugh hysterically or kiss you or—or what? There was no level footing, no middle grounds. Anything that involved Ferb Fletcher was bound to be complicated, maybe in appearance things would be deceiving but sooner or later you'd find yourself digging through layers and layers trying to figure this scrawny, green haired boy out. And why? Was it because he was beautiful and wild and driven and captivating, with such a presence that he was totally unignorable? Or…or was it something else…something that ran far deeper than just that?

"_This day's getting longer every turn that we take _

_There's lights, shops, lollipops and people eating cakes _

_The pavement is full of it, it's all going on _

_But we don't give a shit 'cos"_

And here Ferb whipped to his left, until he was giving Baljeet and I a smirking, daring stare.

"_We're sitting in a car _

_We're sitting in a car"_

Of course the look he gave us was because only we had been with him when he thought up the first few prose of 'Sitting in a Car'. Hyped up on cocaine, tongue kissing Baljeet, hastily taking his clothes off and then sprawling out on a sandy Californian beach at God only knows when in the morning. We were beginning to live a life of agony and complete and utter excess…and we didn't even have one album out yet.

"_There's flowers and dirt and fat slobbering old men_

_Young girl, mothers, walking with their friends_

_Pushing prams, kicking cans and passing the time of day _

_Someone pushed someone 'cos someone didn't get out their way_

_This day's getting longer every turn that we take _

_There's lights, shops, lollipops and people eating cakes _

_The pavement is full of it, it's all going off_

_But we don't give a shit 'cos _

_We're sitting in a car _

_We're sitting in a car _

_We're sitting in a car_

_We're sitting in a car"_

He belted the words out with this causality that sounded _so _good, so _right_. I suppose because the whole song—after the initial cocaine-high first few lines—was about what we'd saw on the way back to our apartment the next morning, hung-over, covered in sand and drenched in perspiration. The lyrics were the observations of two burnt-out wannabe-rockstars and a legend in the making. The look in his optics—he got it every time he performed—revealed so much…revealed the scared little boy buried deep within. He wasn't half as strong as everyone said, and only I knew it. But that—that breakability…that fragility—it didn't stop Ferb from being this vibrant, moving person.

"_We're driving down the road in between the white lines_

_There's police cars coming solving all the crimes _

_Faces on posters towering over our heads _

_People going dancing, off their heads back to their beds"_

So yeah maybe he was some deity from another planet, but that didn't prevent the manic depression that haunted the orbs of his eyes—so unmatched with the full smirking mouth and the skilled guitarists' fingers. I wish I knew what he was thinking as he sung, cos there was always that thing there…I don't quite know what it was…but it was in the way he looked so forlornly to the ceiling and the way his voice hitched beautifully almost like he was gonna cry or break into a sudden scream. He made me shiver with anticipation, his musky scent my kryptonite.

"_This day's getting longer every turn that we take_

_There's lights, shops, lollipops and people eating cakes _

_The pavement is full of it, it's all going on_

_But we don't give a shit 'cos_

_We're sitting in a car_

_We're sitting in a car_

_We're sitting in a car_

_We're sitting in a car"_

Buford slammed down viciously on his drum set to finish off the song. Ferb placed—placed not smashed this time—his guitar against the wall. "Is that bloody good enough Paul!"

The man's bushy eyebrows were rose almost in—awe. "Bravo Fletcher. You've got yourself an anthem."

Ferb let out a breath that nobody would've known he'd been holding had he not let it out so loudly. And all the temperamental creature could bring himself to say was; "It's about fucking time."

**Halloween Night 2007**

Heavy breathing. Lights. Camera. Action. Posters. Media. Sex. Fire. Panting. Sweat. Tears. Blood. "Fuck, fuck, FUCK" His exasperated, fed-up sigh broke my thoughts. "FUCKING SHIT!"

"What?" I murmured, smoking my cigarette quietly. I could remember a time where I would've been the one so pent up with overflowing emotion…but now…now I stayed silent—And hell, I never thought there'd be different sorts of quiet…but comparing myself to Ferb…I quickly realized there were. Ferb's silence…was a stand…it was filled with confidence and intelligence and wander. My silence…it was the self conscious, I've-got-nothing-important-to-say, angsty teenage-bullshit type.

"I SCREWED UP" Ferb screamed, punching the dressing room door. "Fuck" He hissed, sucking on his knuckles—which had split all the way across on impact with the door. "Fuck…" And his voice…he just sounded so genuine…the boy really thought he'd fucked up.

"Ferb…you were great" I knew I shouldn't have said it; the blaze that went up in his irises further backed me up.

He grabbed me by the shoulders and slammed my back against the wall. "Why do you insist upon lying Phin?" He plead. "Just tell me the truth, just fucking…UGH"

The mood swings were getting harder and harder to deal with. I was pinned to the drywall, with his sweaty hands clamoring over my shoulders to keep me in place. "Ferb" I breathed wispily, the perspiration dripping from our foreheads and chests…our heat, our…essence, had melted together. It always did during those storms of ridiculously uncalled for emotion. "There's no one in the world like you."

He loosened his vice like grip on me and pushed away slowly. "Yes there are Phineas. For fucks sake. Who out there _isn't _like me? We got lucky once. Who's to say I'm better than the old man on Sunset Boulevard singing his heart out for pocket change? Who's to say I'm any better than all those worn-out cadavers playing their music with so much soul? I'm just another fad. Some stupid, pretty-boy who'll get fawned over for a moment and then be gone. A one-maybe two-hit wonder."

Only a few weeks ago he'd been preaching to me on the roof of Geffen Recording Studio about how we'd made it, about how right we were where we were. And now…he was falling apart. I hated him. But to lose Ferb…would be to lose everything. Our lives had become so chaotically intertwined that even if I wanted to—and fuck I didn't-get out I'd be left with nothing.

Baljeet was there for the sex, for the drugs, for the power.

Buford was the sole other there for the same reason I was; simply because he had nothing else except for those snippets of left-over life he picked up after Baljeet was done with them…maybe he loved Jeet…I always thought he did.

And Ferb? I think Ferb was the only one who was really in it for The Highlighters.

_"No great artist ever sees things as they really are. If he did he would cease to be an artist." -Oscar Wilde_


	11. I Got Blisters on My Fingers

**Yes I updated faster this time! I'm not trying to be a bother but last chapter I got a helluva a lot less reviews than per normal—not blaming anybody, I did forget to update for like a month—but I'm trying to redeem myself, so please guys, review! And most importantly enjoy! Fuck I love writing Highway Chile, it's almost like—I dunno…like I become Phin when I write it, because I feel his agony. And Ferb's too, I'm so excited to get to work on Free Bird—it's gonna have a whole different, weirder—if it can get any more fucked up—tone than HC. Anyways WATCH BROTHERS OF THE HEAD! So I think this may well be my longest chapter, maybe not my best but hey I had fun writing it—especially Vanessa—I don't particularly like her but she needs to be in there, and she makes a perfect groupie/photographer! And one last thing; the Bob Marley quote at the very end of the chapter…it's for Ferb. **

**~Peace, Love, Flowers, Puppies, Nirvana~**

**~~Mick~~!**

**Disclaimer: Nope, Phin and Ferb are sadly not mine. Neither is Helter Skelter by The Beatles. =C**

_**I Got Blisters on My Fingers**_

_**When I get to the bottom I go back to the top of the slide**_

_**Where I stop and I turn and then I go for a ride**_

_**'Til I get to the bottom and I see you again, yeh, yeh yeh**_

_**Do you, don't you want me to love you**_

_**I'm coming down fast, but I'm miles above you**_

_**Tell me, tell me tell me, c'mon tell me the answer**_

_**Well you may be a lover but you ain't no dancer.**_

_**Now Helter Skelter, Helter Skelter, Helter Skelter, yeah ...**_

_**a-Will you, won't you want me to make you**_

_**I'm coming down fast, but don't let me break you**_

_**Tell me, tell me, tell me the answer**_

_**You may be a lover but you ain't no dancer.**_

_**Look out! **_

_**Helter Skelter, Helter Skelter, Helter Skelter, oooh...**_

_**Look out, 'cause here she come ...**_

**December 2007**

"It's all fucking wrong!" Ferb snarled, brashly throwing the headphones Mason had handed him onto the floor. "What bullock did you get to mix the fucking songs?"

"Oi, I mixed the music!" Mason countered, receiving nothing more than a shimmery eyed glare from our lead singer.

"Why am I not bloody surprised!" Ridiculous. It was ridiculous. To think of all the fights we'd undergone, the four of us—excluding Mason—during recording. Most times it'd been Baljeet, Buford and I versus Ferb. Because in front of the microphone the power seemed to go to his head, he was a bratty, two faced, underweight anti-star in the makings…and I'd never had more butterflies in my stomach. He looked like a pious little fuck right there, staring Mason levelly, his sweater—some knitted teal monstrosity even Mr. Rogers wouldn't have been caught dead in—hanging off his skinny frame haphazardly. His imperfections made him perfect; gangly limbs, jutting-out bones and all. I wandered if he ever ate at all anymore. "No one. _No one-_"

"Ferb..." Baljeet sighed, his thick cinnamon eyelashes fluttering skywards.

"SHUT UP!" We all thought it but finally Buford was the only one who'd say it. Our usually stoic drummer's rumbling voice—almost as deep as Paul's—broke in. I daren't tell Ferb to shut up because every doomed emotion in the world coursed through me whenever we as much as caught eyes and Baljeet didn't speak up because he didn't want to lose his sex and drugs buddy, God only knew what'd happen if the Indian lost that. "Just because you're the motherfucking singer doesn't give you the right to treat _us _like shit. Straighten your priorities out right the fuck NOW before I do it for you." Buford balled a gargantuan pale hand threateningly.

I didn't understand how he did it. He glared the drummer—Ferb actually stood an inch or two taller than him—in the eye. "What gives you the right…" Lost for words. For once the infallible Ferb Fletcher was lost for words. "Lets just get this done with" He muttered, picking at—he'd been picking at it for half an hour now—his sharp jaw bone, scabbing it all over. "What fucking songs have we recorded again?" 

Baljeet—tipsy as all fuck—tore a crumpled piece of loose-leaf from the pocket of his black leather pants and held it up. "Two-Way Romeo, In Bloom, Rosemary, Sitting in a Car, D-Rive, I Am A Sock, The Pusher and Highway Chile"

"Well isn't that just fucking perfect" Ferb grumbled, his eyebrows bent down menacingly. "Only half the album is our original stuff, aren't we just the most creative people in the universe?" The question was strangled with sarcasm so bitter the taste was palpable.

"W-where'd Mason go?" Baljeet wandered aloud, looking about the room. Our manager was nowhere to be seen, not that any of us really gave a shit, least of all the singer.

"Shit, shit, shit" Mr. Mason Donnelley came back bursting through the doors "She's fucking 'ere and you lot are still bickering like fucking two year olds."

I quirked a brow "Who's here?"

Mason threw his hands into the air shamelessly "The bloody photographer for your album cover you knobs!"

"WHAT?" Ferb yelled, and for a few moments everybody fell silent in the wake of it. "We haven't even gotten an album name have we, and there's a flipping photographer here?"

I could see Mason gnawing on his thin lower lip, just waiting for the green haired prince to say another bratty remark. Because that would give him the initiation he needed to punch the boy about. "Oi, you're lucky I got your sorry ass a photographer at all Fletcher. To me you're just another shitty gig, and that's all you'll ever be to the music industry too if you keep it up." He ashed the cigarette he'd been chain smoking the past while onto the carpeted floor.

"I don't care" Ferb growled back, not missing a beat.

There was no stare off or secrecy this time, Mason straight up punched, knocking Ferb right off his smug Converse clad feet. "Shut your dosser mouth Fletcher!"

"HEY!" I screamed, shoving Mason. "Don't you fucking touch him scumbag!"

Tiny black eyes narrowed in my direction. "Let 'im fight 'is own battles Phin. Just cos you're in bloody love with him doesn't change anything"

"Fuck off Mason" I hooked my calloused fingers in the collar of our manager's patchy blazer and—before he could read my eyes or notice the blush that toned my sunken in cheeks-tossed him, resulting in a dastardly collision with Buford's drum set.

Looming over Mason with the most threatening demeanor I could muster I hadn't noticed the photographer walk in. By this point Ferb had stood up, a trickle of perfect scarlet bubbled from his mouth and down his chin. "F-Ferb?"

"Vanessa!" Hearing his audible gasp I swung around and found myself just as astonished. She was as sexy as I'd remembered—maybe even prettier now that she'd toned down on the black eyeliner—instead now her chestnut optics were ringed with some mascara and gun metal grey shadow, even though her face was immaculate with cover-up the delicate features-so much less harsh than Isabella's-were visible. She'd kept the snug leather coat but traded the slutty vinyl minis in for a knee length pencil skirt, fishnets and violet heels. Long chocolate brown locks had been chopped into a 60's looking Bob that although she pulled off gorgeously was still a shame. "The fuck are you doing in LA?" Bleeding, black eyed and faced with the most beautiful girl we'd ever known and that's what he came out with. I couldn't resist the urge to smile.

"A modeling agency scouted me in January, I realized photography was more my thing and—this is my first shoot with a band. Fuck, if I'd known…" Silky red lips that looked like orchid petals—that looked like Ferb's—maybe she could make me forget.

But before I could push one word out of my sorry lips Baljeet grinned his skanky grin. "Long time no see Vanessa" He spoke with hot marbles in his mouth, that delectable Indian accent that one either loved or hated.

"Is that you Baljeet?" Vanessa's over-plucked eyebrows lifted quizzically accompanied by a wind-chime-like laugh. "Christ, you grew up. And where's the fireball Phineas?"

Fireball. That made me want to show my face even less. Last time Vanessa Doofenshmirtz had seen me—and I mean really seen, not up on stage back in 2006—was before I fucking hit puberty. When I wasn't all wrong. Back when my eyes were blinding blue and my outgrown hair shone like autumn leaves and crimson. Despite how much I yearned to cringe I instead smiled saccharinely. "Hey Vanessa, how're you?"

"Wow!" She spent an even longer time sizing me up than she did Jeet. "Wow Phineas…"

"What?" I questioned awkwardly, knowing that she'd probably found one of my innumerable flaws.

"You look great" I couldn't tell if that lusty, teeth baring expression she gave was fake or raw.

The shots were all taken, some behind an old club on Sunset Blvd and the others on a sandy beach during sunset. "You wanna come over later on?" By the time I finally got the balls to ask her the photo shoot was done and we were all well sick.

"I'm not sure…" She trailed off and looked around Buford's—surprisingly the only one of us who could hold a constant job—apartment. "I guess…yeah alright, I'll stay a bit."

Baljeet tapped my arm and winked, lifting his chin towards Vanessa with a smirk. "Go for it Phin." I rolled my eyes blatantly.

"So…" She unzipped her edgy jacket and hung it over Buford's ruined leather couch neatly. "What did you guys have planned?"

I one-shoulder shrugged and began twisting strands of my dull-but-fiery hair around my fingers. "We were gonna get wasted." Although it'd never been confirmed our nightly activities went without question, when _weren't _we under the influence? Sometimes there were girls—Buford tended to bring home trashy ones with big tits and sloppy curves—but most times it was just the four of us. Baljeet and Ferb snorted a few lines regardless, me and Buford did occasionally. More and more I needed it and I was afraid.

"Mmm were you now?" She purred "Because getting trashed sounds fucking amazing."

Ferb stood up abruptly, his spine looking like a metal rod, his lips in a straight pissed-the-fuck-off line. "I'll get the vodka" A bit later he remerged, but instead of sharing the alcohol he stamped off to Buford's bedroom alone with the Smirnoff, his lyric book and a pocket mirror.

"He's fucking off his knocker" Baljeet spoke to Vanessa in an explanatory way—and I came so close to decking him in the teeth cos under normal circumstances the Indian would've been kissing Ferb's dirty feet right about now.

Buford in the meantime had grabbed a case of beer, three bottles of Vodka, two flasks of tequila and a jug of Captain Morgan's. "Let's get this party started fuckers" He grinned, slouching down in his armchair and popping open a Budweiser.

Vanessa went straight for what I was going for—the rum. "A rum drinker too?" She chuckled, chugging a quarter of the bottle and passing it too me.

"Yeah" I replied, quickly swiping down some of the crystalline amber. "Lets chug, I'll do half then you."

"Deal" She breathed in my ear, mouth grazing a lobe, tugging the ring through it. Neither of us was drunk yet and she was already all over me. Not that I was complaining, this sex kitten of a potential-super-model was tracing butterfly kisses down my throat as I drank—Adam's apple bobbing up and down as the killer sweet liquid slid by. When half was gone Vanessa slugged back the rest, her silky cocoa hair brushing her jaw delicately. "Mmm, so…saccharine"

By the time we were through the rum and two of the three bottles of vodka I was on top of the world. Baljeet had flicked on some 80's movie—The Breakfast Club I think or Fast Times at Ridgemont High—and was sprawled out on top of Buford shirtless, sleepy, smoking a honey Cigarillo. Ferb still had the bedroom door locked tight, staying in his own world and shutting the rest of us out. I never understood the way he was—and _fuck _I missed knowing every thought that crossed those jaded eyes.

"Phineas" Her heavily lidded optics and full mouth—soaked shiny with alcohol—snapped me out of it. "Kiss me" So I obliged, I cocked my head and pressed my lips up against her warm inviting cave of teeth and tongue and gums. She tasted like rum and coconut. Baljeet lit up a joint spiked with cocaine crystals. The smoke writhed around the apartment; its tendrils stretched out, slid down my throat and went straight to my brain. Goodbye good judgment, not that I had any to begin with. Our kisses became more heated, with more appendages—like fingers and tongues stroking thick-lipped flesh—like tiny female hands running up my trachea. Off came her shirt, mine was already long gone. Neither of us cared that Baljeet and Buford were on the couch next to ours. She wrapped her endless legs around my waist and pushed down my jeans to my ankles with talented, high heel clad feet. "Mmm" Her tiny squeal of protest when I tweaked a nipple through her lacy bra made me smile. Then there was no bra. And my jeans were thrown across the living room. I remember that a cigarette hung from my mouth right before I tugged her fishnets and thong off. I brought her to the bathroom, sat her down on the toilet and made her spread those delicious legs. Licked her creamy thighs-licked a lot more than just that actually—then off went her skirt. Bathroom door was open, she pulled my boxers down. Thrusting. Hard, fast motions, fluidly slamming myself into her warmth over and over and over. Moans, groans, more kisses. When I reached breaking point she got on her knees and I came everywhere. Cum dripping from her lower lip, marring those perfect, perky tits, tangling her hair.

I left her on the bathroom floor and threw up off the balcony. I watched my vomit fly 12 stories until it hit the cool pavement below. Why was it that after I'd came—in that moment when her large brown Doe eyes caught mine—why could I only see green? Why green? Why reptilian, so _alive _emerald? Why the fuck _not _brown? The answer came to me as I walked back towards the living room. The door to Buford's bedroom was cracked open. And the most perfect, celestial being in the universe sat cross-legged on his bed. Skin looking blue-white in the moonlight filtering in from between the partially open blinds, hair that resembled over-grown summer grass, holding his Telecaster—and playing an amp-less rendition of Hendrix's Little Wing, his skinny-as-shit face was completely slick with tears.

Ferb's gaze rose and met mine. And it was green. In fact it was chlorophyll heaven. A green to outshine food coloring and flashing neon lights. A green to get drunk on. Jaded beyond all belief.

_**When I get to the bottom I go back to the top of the slide**_

_**And I stop and I turn and then I go for a ride**_

_**And I get to the bottom and I see you again, yeh, yeh yeh**_

_**Well do you, don't you want me to make you**_

_**I'm coming down fast, but don't let me break you**_

_**Tell me, tell me, tell me your answer**_

_**You may be a lover but you ain't no dancer **_

_**Look out!**_

_**helter skelter, helter skelter, helter skelter**_

_**Look out! Helter Skelter ... she coming down fast**_

_**yes she is**_

_**yes she is**_

_**coming down fast **_

_**oh now helter skelter ... woo hooo**_

_**I got blisters on my fingers!**_

"_**The good thing about music is when it hits you, you feel no pain" - Bob Marley**_


	12. Crush His Sweet Hands

**Huh I've been writing pretty fast lately haven't I? But I've also been getting WAY less reviews. Don't get me wrong, the people who DO review faithfully make my heart leap. But I suppose that time lapse where I didn't update for a month and a half or so lost me a lot of readers…Fuck man that blows. I realized only as I wrote this that I've developed most of the characters…except for Buford, and I really wanna highlight that he's a good guy behind the tough act. I almost felt like this chapter needed more but then noticed that it's fine the way it is, doing any touch ups would add unneeded shit. Anyways Happy Hanukah, Merry Christmas, Happy Birthday Jesus to you all! I'm out for a smoke, but I hope you all get what you wished for. [=**

**~Mick~~!**

**Disclaimer: Ya da ya da ya da. Phin and Ferb innit mine. Ziggy Stardust by David Bowie isn't either. **

_**Ziggy played guitar, jamming good with Weird and Gilly **_

_**The spiders from Mars. He played it left hand **_

_**But made it too far **_

_**Became the special man, then we were Ziggy's band **_

_**Ziggy really sang, screwed up eyes and screwed down hairdo**_

_**Like some cat from Japan, he could lick 'em by smiling **_

_**He could leave 'em to hang **_

_**Came on so loaded man, well hung and snow white tan. **_

_**So where were the spiders while the fly tried to break our balls**_

_**Just the beer light to guide us, **_

_**So we bitched about his fans and should we crush his sweet hands?**_

_**Crush His Sweet Hands**_

_He cradles my head in his hands, russet skinned fingers stroking my matted red mane. "Fuck Phineas" He whimpers, blinking those eyelashes that go on infinitely. "Phinny" _

"…_Jeet" My fragile voice snaps oh so dramatically. Alarm begins to cloud his already stress stricken face. "There's something-" I gasp, inhaling messily, clenching my fists among bloody bed sheets. "Something you—you need to k-know" _

_I can visibly see the dirty, mossy irises cloud with curiosity. "What?" He whispers, propping my head up higher on bony, jean clad knees. _

"_Uh" I'm surprised when the words don't spring out of my mouth, there's a halt. "I-I—I" I pass out that's what I do, or maybe I don't, maybe I just slip into another world because I can still hear Baljeet freaking the fuck out. With all my willpower I crack my lips open. "I killed him" _

"_W-what?" Vocals tinted with disbelief._

"_You heard me Jeet" I whimper, a barrage of liquid come to my eyes, my nose is all too quickly dripping. "I fucking killed him" I doubt he even understands the last part of that sentence because I sob it out loudly. Too loudly, cos my hearing is muffled. _

"_N-no, you couldn't" _

"_I know" I breathe desperately, clinging onto his worn brown leather jacket. "But you've gotta understand why."_

_Baljeet's eyes bubble over with suppressed tears, they drip and sparkle on his thick lashes. "You really fucking did it didn't you Phin…w-why—how"_

"_Jeet" I cry, our gazes lock hungrily. We're both terrified and crushed and God Baljeet's eyes are beautiful. For a second it leaves me breathless, they're usually hazel...but now, now that he's been crying they turn shades paler. The clearest, lightest most penetrating green, they're not hard to get lost in. And something—__**something—**__about that color stops me in my tracks, and even though all I wanna do right now—even immobile on drugs- is run, I stay put. I look at him, and there it is. His optics are back to being hazel, warm brown and hints of gold with only the slightest specks of green. I feel a pang, and this time it's not because of Baljeet. Well, maybe a little. It's cos of his hazel eyes, and the fact that I'm longing to see a different shade, one a little brighter, like emeralds and evergreens and summer nights. It hits me like a ton of bricks. What I'm longing to see. Ferb has green eyes. "He was wasting away…"_

"_Who're you trying to conveence, me or yourself?" He snaps, disgusted. _

"_He was so skinny Jeet"_

_The full red lips soften around the edges. "Phinny" Baljeet's will snaps like a twig, he curls up-bringing my head closer to his chest—and balls like a little kid. "I know Phin, I know. Why-" His voice hitches "Why did he keep doing it? We could all see him wasting away" Hiccup "Why didn't he stop! WHY?" The Indian screams "WHY! WHY! WHY!" And now he twists his fists amongst his lustrous cherry-coke brown hair and yanks. "WHY?" _

_I'm taken aback by those passionate screams. Makes me wander what I didn't see in him a life ago. "He was better off dead" I murmur against his cinnamon throat. "He was better off dead Jeet" _

"_You're sick"_

"_I'm dead" _

**January 1****st**** 2008**

'**In other news The Highlighters—four kids from a small town called Danville who swept the nation in May of last year with their single Two-Way Romeo—have released a new album due to hit shelves today! Rumors say that the album is half the band's original music and half covers of famous songs such as Nirvana's In Bloom and Jimi Hendrix's Highway Chile…"**

"We should've had less covers" Ferb sighed "No one'll wanna buy a CD filled with overdone rock singles…"

Buford's crystalline eyes rolled back. "Moreover nobody in their right mind'll wanna buy a CD called 'Screaming at a Concrete Moon'."

Baljeet and I looked at eachother and then at Ferb, whose lips pulled into a raunchy sneer. Argument after fucking argument had taken place trying to name the album. Buford had wanted it 'Two-Way Romeo' sweet, simple and to the point. Baljeet had pined for a sexy, suggestive title like 'Superman the Super Slut'. And me I just wanted whatever would make the boy with emerald eyes smile—anything to see those sun-dial irises ignite. Of course the thing Ferb yearned for the album to be called had to be poetic and seemingly-irrelevant and enigmatic. But Ferb spoke. And so it became.

"Look, we haven't even seen the album leaflet yet…" My attempts at being group peace-maker usually went straight down the drain, mostly due to the others shooting down every little thing I said, but this time I was interrupted by a knock at the door.

"It's open!" Baljeet hollered

Mason tramped into the living room holding a big cardboard box. "Wait'll you lot see what I've got in 'ere." Argument ceased quickly because we'd started pushing and shoving for a good place to stand around the box.

The sound of our manager tearing strips of packing tape made me cringe and Ferb outright snarl; "Get on with it already."

Mason let out a noise of distaste before completely ripping the box open. "'Ere it is; The Highlighters; Screaming at a Concrete Moon"

Ferb was the first to lift one of the CD's out and examine it from under shaggy bangs, considering the sneer never left his immaculate features I assumed the worst. But when I held up my own copy of our first album I couldn't see what he'd found so wrong with it. Herewith in the perfect plastic case lied a leaflet sporting a photo, a black and white photo of us in a dank alleyway on Sunset Blvd. In the picture Buford sat precariously on some scaffolding, holding his drumsticks in one hand and a lit cigar in the other, his expression was apathetic, it revealed nothing. Baljeet on the other hand was grinning like a rabid dog, his blue bandana secured around his head with his dark, messy hair flopping out everywhere in backcombed chunks; he was leaning against an old brick wall casually 'Screaming at a Concrete Moon' was spray painted above him in rust red writing. Ferb and I stood front center, drawing most of the eye's attention-which had been my godly step brother's plan the whole time. I looked angsty as ever, my hair wavy and knotted and down to my chin, gaze cast skywards-only later did any of us notice that the way the sun hit my eyes made them look transparent—although both him and I had pretty dark hair mine turned out looking sun-bleached in some spots, not only that but my skin looked spotted across my cheeks. Of course it was Ferb who drew the most attention though, he stared straight through the lens-and even in monotone shades you could tell that those irises must've been incredible—his flower-petal lips were parted but sneering in a Mick Jagger-if-he'd-fucked-Sid Vicious like pout, his bangs loosely swung over one side, the rest of his hair feathered down in spiky, wavy, twisted, wild strands to his jutting collar bone. He wore nothing more than faded Levi's and a 1940's blazer, revealing an underfed torso and a delicate trail of hair winding into those skinny-but-too-big-for-him jeans. The dramatic lighting made the beauty marks on his dead-white face and the Peter Jackson cigarette he was smoking stand out blindingly.

"Whoa" I stammered, pulling out a cig and lighting it slowly. "I like it"

A bitter sigh prompted me to turn and face jade eyes pooling-over with tears "You would" He tore the pack of smokes from my hand and stalked out the door.

"W-what?" My voice sounded hollow in the wake of his mood swing. "Shit…"

"Just fucking eegnore him Phin" Baljeet snapped, already sick of the way I pined after our singer. "He's a moody little bitch" Over the course of the past month Baljeet seemingly began to resent Ferb's presence, along with the fact that he got all the fame. I remembered a time not too long ago when they'd tongue kiss, half naked and high as all fuck in Mason's antique Shelby. "For Christ's sake…"

My lips fell apart "I-I" I quit talking cos I knew it'd get me nowhere and instead left on a wild goose chase for Ferb. The bathroom door was propped open—the bathroom that I'd screwed Vanessa silly in—letting a dappled sliver of yellow light hit the hallway carpet. "Ferb" Barely a breath, I leaned my head against the doorframe lightly. He was sitting cross-legged on the toilet sucking back sweet, sweet cocaine with a straw. And he was crying again. I wordlessly stepped inside and locked us in. "Ferb" I spoke louder this time.

"Fuck off Phin" Was his tear-filled reply. There was a puddle of watery vomit on the tile floor beside the toilet—how long again since he'd eaten? Stench of regurgitated vodka. "I'm a bloody mess. I'M A BLOODY MESS" He screamed, looking for all the world like he was about to jump from the top of the CN Tower. "Can't you see?"

"Yeah…I can" It stank-the puked up alcohol—I mean, to have such clear vomit I speculated he hadn't ate for three days or so. "It doesn't hafta be like this"

Level gaze. His voice quit wobbling and became so serene so fast that I was terrified. "Yes it does. This is the way it goes Phin. You know it. I know it. They all know it."

"Know what?" I cried lowly, eyes squinted in confusion.

"That I'm supposed to be like this" He rasped without missing a beat "It knows" I shook my head back and forth and gently laid a wrist to his cheek. He leaned into my touch-I could feel slimy tear residue, dried translucent vomit and pumping blood—I broke into a bout of shivers. I longed to feel this—the way his eyelashes grazed my veins every time he blinked, the way his lips moved against my skin when he talked—forever. "So take your 'It doesn't hafta be this way' crap, and shove it Phinny!" The sudden yell made me shy away from him like a spooked horse. I just stood there with my mouth agape. "What're you fucking looking at?" Again the accent became stronger the angrier he got. "Get the fuck off me" Gaze cast downwards, bangs flopping over the optics, voice shaky once more. I burnt the tip of another cigarette and slammed the door behind me. He locked it.

_**Later On**_

I snorted a fat line of crystal white cocaine off of Baljeet's soft, red-brown stomach. 'Two-Way Romeo' blasted from Mason's surround sound system. To congratulate us on our first record Mason had microwaved his frigid little heart and invited us over to his tiny house out near the waterfront. I wasn't sure where exactly our manager had gotten off to and in my pumped up state couldn't care in the slightest either.

"Phineas" Ferb's voice drifted to me through a thousand muffled barriers and broke them all down. He was holding my upper arm, fingernails leaving trenches. "Phineas" Like the wind and the sea blown sand. When did we get outside? Where was Baljeet's bare stomach? Only a world ago I was licking coke off of it. "The stars are falling" He pulled me down onto the beach, staring up at a wavering canvas of silver studded ebony. Waves lapped at our toes. He wore nothing but threadbare black boxers. I still had jeans on.

"Stars are falling?" On top of the universe. That's what I felt. I could conquer anything. Maybe I could even—impulse, I swear I did it on impulse. My squirming tongue found his bellybutton and swirled around; he dug his hands into my hair and gasped. I licked slowly up his torso, sucking hickeys below his ribs and along his breastbone.

"You guys!" Buford said from miles away "Isabella's here"

Ferb shot up, my heart sunk. "You coming?" He murmured.

I smiled sarcastically "No. Fuck no." And before I knew it I'd lost him again. Her creamy arms slung over his boney shoulders, midnight black tresses blowing like a movie star's. Her lips were painted crimson, false eyelashes, copper irises, neon-white grin and a sequined canary yellow cocktail dress. Heat. Yes, a fire blazed in my stomach. Where was Vanessa when you needed her?

"Hey Phin" Isabella Garcia-Shapiro set her plastic sneer on me, eyes sparkling snidely—because even then I think she knew that by playing with Ferb she put me through Hell. What had I ever saw in her?

"You should get a nose reduction" Where did that come from? I clapped a hand over my mouth; it did nothing to stop my obnoxious laughter though. If she could send me such a cruel facial expression then fuck—I could pick apart her flaws until she cried. "No company's gonna want a Jew nosed journalist." I jeered.

What I hadn't expected was Ferb coming to her rescue. "Shut your bloody mouth Phineas. At least she has a personality."

My fingers clutched for my chest. Heart beating too fast. Way too fast. They walked away—Isabella strutted smugly—Ferb moved gracefully and silently like a feline. Only after awhile I noticed the effort was useless. I'd been grabbing like there was fabric to tear away when really I did nothing more then scratch myself up and down. '_At least she has a personality'._ Every time I felt slightly better that phrase rolled around my head mockingly, spoken with that heavy, sexy, panting British accent of his. It made me want to smash his delicate guitarists' hands and saw out his larynx.

"You want a smoke?" Buford's gruff vocals startled me. Yet lo and behold there he was—sitting on the tawny sand with a Cuban cigar. He offered me a pack of John Player's—the three of us smoked them; Ferb was the single being who preferred Peter Jackson's—and I took one gratefully.

"Thanks" I spoke in a small, pathetic whimper. "Dude…how long've you been out here?"

He blew a stray ash from his blue-black hair. "Long enough man"

_**Present Day**_

_I wake up with an achingly deep intake of air. "Jeet"_

_He's crying openly, frenzied. I can tell his insides are battling, stuck between lying for me and calling the cops. It doesn't matter, Isabella probably already has. "What Phin?"_

"_Ferb left something for us." I thoughtlessly gesture towards his cluttered nightstand. Some icy liquid is making a path on my skin. Blood. While Baljeet frantically throws things off the dresser I toy with the fluid. When I rub the clammy pads of my fingers through it, it smudges. _

"_Is this fucking it?" He holds up the burgundy envelope and something I've never saw before—a VHS tape in a plain white case. _

"_W-what's that?" _

_Baljeet slides the tape into our VCR without restraint. "I guess we're about to find out." _

_**Ziggy played for time, jiving us that we were voodoo **_

_**The kids were just crass, he was the nazz **_

_**With God given ass **_

_**He took it all too far but boy could he play guitar **_

_**Making love with his ego Ziggy sucked up into his mind**_

_**Like a leper messiah **_

_**When the kids had killed the man I had to break up the band. **_

_**Oh yeah**_

_**Ooooooo **_

_**Ziggy played guitaarrrrrr**_

"**The devil's voice is sweet to hear."-Stephen King**


	13. Nothings Gonna Change My World

**Yay an update finally! I know right! Actually I've been consistently working on HC ever since the last chapter, I'm actually never giving up on this story, and I've fallen in love with it. And despite how I may sometimes have writers block or feel like what I write isn't good enough, doesn't measure up to the plot I've created, I'll always continue onwards. Because Phineas' story needs to be told. There are around 16-17 chapters left give or take before Highway Chile is finished and I can start on Ferb's epic narration of Free-Bird. I'm STILL getting less reviews, to those who do review though please continue. Without knowing people read my work I have no motivation to continue. So yes, I'll smoke a cigarette and wait for my first reviewer. **

**~Peace, love, flowers, puppies, Nirvana~**

**~Mick~~!**

**Disclaimer: Phin and Ferb don't belong to me most unfortunately and neither does Across The Universe-The Beatles. Random fact; 'Jai guru deva om" is Hindu for 'the shining remover of darkness'. **

_**Words are flying out like **_

_**Endless rain into a paper cup **_

_**They slither while they pass **_

_**They slip away across the universe **_

_**Pools of sorrow waves of joy **_

_**Are drifting thorough my open mind **_

_**Possessing and caressing me **_

_**Jai guru deva om **_

_**Nothing's gonna change my world **_

_**Nothing's gonna change my world **_

_**Nothing's gonna change my world **_

_**Nothing's gonna change my world **_

_**Images of broken light which **_

_**Dance before me like a million eyes **_

_**That call me on and on across the universe **_

_**Thoughts meander like a **_

_**Restless wind inside a letter box **_

_**They tumble blindly as **_

_**They make their way across the universe**_

_**Nothings Gonna Change My World**_

**Late January 2008**

**Donnelly says working with Ferb Fletcher is "Like having a dog piss in your face. The best thing Ferb could do for The Highlighters right now is to hang himself on a shower rod and go out like Kurt Cobain." **

"The _fuck _is this?" Ferb shot out of his seat on Buford's patchy leather couch filled with rage. Getting no reply from our manager—quietly looking at the floor as if it were suddenly the most interesting thing in the universe—he threw the magazine across the room. "OI MASON, WHAT THE FUCK IS THIS?"

"This" Mason suddenly stood up and latched one grimy hand about the discarded magazine. "_This _is publicity mate. Saying this load of shit made the article fucking three pages longer. And half o' it's about you, my green 'aired little diva!"

"Don't ever call me **yours** shitbag" Ferb sneered in disgusted response. "Maybe I'll do an interview and tell the fucking tabloids about how you beat the shit outta me."

"In this day and age? Like they'll believe you." Mason snorted, tossing back his nondescript brown hair and lighting up a cheap cigarette. "Sedgwick won't let any o' that get out Ferb mate, trust me" He tapped a finger against his temple smugly. "Trust me"

"Fuck you" He seethed, raking delicate digits through emerald strands. "Fuck you, fuck you, FUCK YOU!"

_TTTTT_

_**Excerpt from Ferb Fletcher's interview with Janice Shay, journalist for The California Sun, January 19**__**th**__** 2008; **_

**Janice Shay: Make yourself comfortable Mr. Fletcher.**

**Ferb Fletcher: It's jus' Ferb. **

**JS: Oh, my apologies. **

**FF: No need mate.**

**JS: So…Ferb, how would you describe your band The Highlighters?**

**FF: How would I describe them…huh that's a good fucking question. I suppose we follow the mold of a billion of our predecessors, we're about freedom of speech and action, sex, sticking it to the man…reaching your nirvana. Nothing new. **

**JS: If you're nothing new then why do you think Two-Way Romeo has been number one on the charts for 6 consecutive weeks now? **

**FF: You tell me. **

**JS: Witty, I like that. How old are you Mr. Fletch—Ferb?**

**FF: (Smiles lopsidedly) I've reached the ripe old age o' 25. **

**JS: Think you'll hit 30?**

**FF: (Face quickly clouds over, eyes darken) What sort of question is that. **

**JS: I'm sorry, that was uncalled for. Earlier this month your manager Mason Donnelly did an interview with 'The Insider' and said that working with you was like—and I quote; "Having a dog piss on your face. The best thing Ferb could do for The Highlighters right now would be to hang himself on a shower rod and go out like Kurt Cobain." **

**FF: Yeah the fucker said all that. A publicity gig he told me. Well fuck your publicity stunts Mason. I'll go out like Cobain the day pigs fly. **

**JS: Interesting. So, explain to me the members of The Highlighters. **

**FF: (Snorts with laughter) They're a bunch o' psycho guys; I love 'em. Hmm, where to start…Well Baljeet—our rhythm guitarist—is a wild Indian boy, a real ladies man. Buford—the drummer—under all of his toughness is a bloody teddy bear. Phin…Phin…**

**JS: Phineas Flynn, your bassist? **

**FF: (Startles out of stupor) Yeah, Phin's my best friend…I think I'd be fucking lost without him. If not for Phineas and rock n' roll I'd probably be dead or in jail by now. **

**JS: How does it feel to be Rock N' Rolls new toy?**

**FF: Toy? (Laughs) **

**JS: No but really, you're on the way to stardom. The Mick Jagger of 2008?**

**FF: I wouldn't compare myself to a God like Mick. **

**JS: You're hard to get a straight answer from, you know that?**

**FF: So I've been told. **

_TTTTT_

"That was fucking harsh Mace" I countered after Ferb had left the room steaming.

"Oi shut up Phin, you know it's as true as day"

And I couldn't deny a thing. Except that…the crowds didn't come to see us, we were slowly becoming the backup for The Ferb Fletcher Band. Buford simply didn't give a shit, as long as he was sat playing his drum kit he was happy. Baljeet on the other hand was boiling over, he released anger through his guitar licks—which were an attempt to overcome Ferb's lead, of course the effort was futile, but Jeet only saw red. We hadn't even gone on tour yet and already things were falling to bits. "Just fucking shut up Mason" I replied, digging my fists into filthy scarlet hair. "Ferb!" I called, catching him around one spindly wrist just before he headed out onto the balcony. "You know it's not tr-"

"But it is." He spoke apathetically, exasperatedly…tiredly. "You'd be a better bloody front man than me Phin."

Just the fact that the most brilliant boy on planet sorrow could think that brought tears to my eyes. "How can you even say that?" I croaked, taking a step closer to him. "You _know _that audiences don't come for The Highlighters…they come for Ferb." His lips were but a displeased, unbelieving line around his cigarette. "They come for Ferb. Is there any wonder why _you're _the first the newspaper interviews? Why _you're _the main on our album cover? You're Ferb Fletcher for fucks sake. You're becoming the stuff of rock n' roll fame."

"That's a lie Phinny and you fucking well know it."

"No. It's not. Christ almighty Ferb it's the only truth left in the world." My words came out toxically; even thought my heart was about bursting, bless my acting skills. "Please believe that."

He shook his head diligently, the grassy locks flipping softly against angular, exotic cheekbones. A Greek God wracked with anorexia. "Don't you DARE say that!" Without warning his right hand came to be balled up amongst the strings and zipper and fabric of my—his—violet hoodie.

I was taken aback by the peace maker's sudden violence. "What do you think you're doing?" I seethed through clenched teeth. I suppose they were the one thing I could hold my utmost confidence in. Because my teeth were perfection; straight, white, gleaming. Whereas Ferb's teeth were slightly off kilter, yellowing, in major need of the confines of braces. But those gloriously fucked up teeth were what gave him such an alluring, eye-catching grin. There was no other smile as real as Ferb's. Least of all mine.

"I'm telling you Phineas, that you should kick me out of the band. Even though it makes me feel like nothing else ever has I know that you'd all be better off with me."

"You're ridiculous!" I scoffed, furrowing brows deeply.

"Exactly!" Ferb screamed in my face. "You hate me and I can't blame you a bit!"

"THAT'S A LIE!" Anger blazed up in the pit of my stomach.

Ferb lifted that sharp, marble chin of his cockily. "What're you gonna do Phinny, hit me?"

So I did. My fist rose and clocked him a good one in the jaw. As soon as I did it I felt nauseous, not flu-sick but about-to-puke-up-all-my-entrails-violently sick. I was just as bad as Mason. "I'm sorry" I gasped, observing—horror-struck—as he clutched the wounded area. Instead of bolting as per usual Ferb turned fiery irises upon me. Terror filled my essence.

"Fuck you" His curled up hand struck my left cheek roughly. Ferb had never been much of a physical fighter but now that it came down to it I realized I wasn't as strong as I'd initially thought. Are we ever? The statuesque fist hit me again, this time chipping a glossy tooth.

"What the hell?" I exclaimed, glaring him down.

"You will always be a hyena." His reply meant little to nothing, but by now I was accustomed to his moronic responses. So I grabbed a chunk of his mullet and dragged him so we stood chest to chest. If only I was more than a mere 5'9. He uttered not another word that drove me crazy. Because I wanted my presence to do…_something. _Not just be some ineffective punching bag that followed him around in times of trouble. It never mattered what I wanted though.

_**Excerpt from Phineas Flynn's Interview with Tara Mitchell, journalist for Hit Parader; **_

**Tara Mitchell: Is any part of what your manager Mason Donnelly said about Ferb true?**

**Phineas Flynn: No, fuck no. (Lights up a cigarette)**

**TM: What then do you think prompted him to say this?**

**PF: Publicity I guess. Why else? He's a prick. **

**TM: Moving on to a…lighter topic, how are The Highlighters doing?**

**PF: Good. We're already working on songs for a second album and trying to get shit together for a tour. **

**TM: Oh a tour, where would you go first?**

**PF: (Shrugs) Across the States I guess, Ferb's all for going to England only we haven't really gotten anywhere yet with the band right so…**

**TM: Your cover of Nirvana's 'In Bloom' was what really got The Highlighters discovered. Was there any reason you guys chose to play that song on that night?**

**PF: Honestly, no. Ferb is just fucking in love with Kurt Cobain. **

TTTTT

The California sky was a quilt made of the finest blues and grays and marbles and creams and whites. The substance caked around my nostril wasn't cocaine and snot, it was crusty black blood. "Ferb?" My voice snapped as I propped myself up on scraped elbows.

"He locked himself in the bathroom with his guitar and the shower on. Again." Only then did I see Baljeet, sitting in one of the ratty lawn chairs on the apartment's balcony, shaking and twitching with an MDMA or Ecstasy induced high.

"W-what happened?" I stammered, blowing a wisp of autumn-leaf orange hair from my eyes.

Baljeet's body tremored "You're stunning Phinny." That's the last thing I wanted to hear and the Indian's out-of-it tone made me fancy beating him to a gruesome pulp. Lying on the cold white-metal floor of Buford's 12th floor balcony with a nosebleed and a lack of Ferb, I'm sure I looked _stunning. _

"Jeet" I groaned "I'm being serious, what fucking happened?"

Baljeet rolled glittering hazel irises and pursed his ruby lips. "You and fucking Ferb were fighting and he knocked you a good one. End of. The Princess is being a moody bitch as usual and locked himself up so none of us can use the fucking bathroom. Speaking of such…" I turned away when he stood up, unzipped his black-leather pants and pissed off the ledge. When he'd finished Jeet flicked his gaze over to me. I was hunched over, forehead pressed to awkward knee's, sobbing. "Oh fuck, it's gonna be alright Phin." He chided reassuringly.

"No" I replied with machete sharpness. "No I don't think it is."

_**Jai guru deva om **_

_**Nothing's gonna change my world **_

_**Nothing's gonna change my world **_

_**Nothing's gonna change my world **_

_**Nothing's gonna change my world **_

_**Sounds of laughter shades of life **_

_**Are ringing through my open ears **_

_**Exciting and inviting me **_

_**Limitless undying love which **_

_**Shines around me like a million suns **_

_**It calls me on and on across the universe **_

_**Jai guru deva om **_

_**Nothing's gonna change my world **_

_**Nothing's gonna change my world **_

_**Nothing's gonna change my world **_

_**Nothing's gonna change my world **_

_**Jai guru deva **_

_**Jai guru deva**_

"**I try to lie as much as I can when I'm interviewed. It's reverse psychology. I figure if you lie, they'll print the truth."-River Phoenix**


	14. Ain't It Good To Be Alive?

**Ah yes an update! This chapter is a bit longer because it covers four months of The Highlighters' activity. I know each month only contains snippets of what really could've occurred in such an expanse of time but bare with me. I really appreciate the reviews I got for previous chapters and won't even mention I still only got a fraction of what I was once receiving. (Oops I mentioned it) But that's cool because the people who do take their time to review are what keep me going, remember that guys, I love you all :'D So next chapter is going to be either The Highlighters Live In Japan or their tour across some of Europe. Then we begin to get into much deeper shit. If you don't know who he is check out Brian Jones, he's the original founder of The Rolling Stones and probably the most tragic death of The 27 Club. I wrote this list of movies that inspired Highway Chile that you should watch; Brothers of the Head, This Is Spinal Tap, The Rolling Stones; In Memory of Brian Jones, The Runaways, My Own Private Idaho, Dogma, Hedwig & The Angry Inch etc…I'll continue said list next chapter. Anyways R&R and as always; Enjoy!**

**~Peace, Love, Brian Jones, Flowers, Puppies, Nirvana~**

**~~Mick~~!**

**Disclaimer: P&F isn't mine, neither is Angie-The Rolling Stones **

**February 2008**

"Whose bright idea was it to sign us up for a four month tour across the US of A again?" Buford moaned, looking at the tiny trailer we were expected to live, sleep and breathe on for weeks on end.

"What _I'm_ wandering is who invited _her_?" The words forced their way from my mouth in a hushed tone. I thought I'd lose my sanity being even in a ten foot radius of Isabella, let alone for four months in a packed trailer.

"Who do you _think_?" Baljeet countered bitterly, sending Ferb a glare. "Did you invite Vanessa?"

His modest question took me aback. I hadn't even considered it. And why the fuck not? "N—no"

The Indian's eyebrows rose, he pulled an old pay-as-you-go flip phone from the pocket of his skinny jeans and passed it to me. "Call her. Now"

"But-"

"No buts' Phin, she gave me her number for you to call her back sometime. So do it."

I rolled my eyes but took the cellphone nonetheless, Jeet was right. Except that the only reason I really went along with his plan to call Vanessa was to spite Ferb for bringing Isabella. Six rings. She picked up on the sixth ring, about a millisecond before I planned to hang up. "Hey, Vanessa?"

"Who's this?" Was her curious reply. Over the crackly line her voice sounded gravelly but feminine, almost like Janis Joplin or Cherie Currie.

"It's Phin."

"Phineas? Shit, hey" The emotion went from edgy to melodic upon the realization of who I was. "What's up?"

"We're going on tour. You wanna come?"

"Uhmm…where and for how long?"

"Across the US, and how long, does it really matter?" I spoke to her exuding the utmost confidence, never letting loose that it was merely a sham to make our emerald eyed singer jealous.

I could hear the hesitance even over the telephone. "You known what, you only live once. Fuck it Phin, I'll go. I'll meet you on Sunset Blvd in an hour."

**March 2008**

"How many times have I told you, I like TWO sugars in my coffee?" Isabella snarled, her relations involving Vanessa had become hostile as soon as the girls spent more than a week in each others presence. Naturally this further strained my and Ferb's interactions.

"She forgot Is, Jesus Christ" I sighed, plopping down on the edge of a mattress. The trailer had a cubicle of a bathroom/shower, four beds—Ferb and I had to share with Isabella and Vanessa—a pathetic excuse for a dining/living area and an overabundance of purple velvet curtains Ferb had insisted upon getting installed. The once puke-beige walls were beginning to get filled up with Ferb's musings, penned in random places in sharp, delicate black Sharpie. "Where's Ferb?"

"Why do you CARE Phin?" Izzy turned towards me, her geisha-white face flushed. "He's not _your _problem anymore." Nausea. Before anybody knew what was happening I was throwing up all over the lap of Isabella's brand new acid-wash jeans. Coming up the vomit tasted like rum and coffee and honeysuckle madness. She screamed, lips taught over the shiny wall of her Crest-White-Strip-commercial-worthy teeth. "WHAT THE FUCK?"

"I'm sorry" I managed to choke those two words out before heaving another load of bile onto her calves. "Where's Ferb?"

"FERB" Baljeet hollered, sneering the whole time. "FERB, YOUR BOYFRIEND IS CALLING."

Tears—half from puking my guts out and half because my over-emotional self was acting up—spilled down my cheeks. "Shut up Jeet" Voice cracked like drift wood, how pathetic.

Ferb emerged from the bathroom with a burgundy towel draped around his waist, revealing way too much of his abdomen and that tantalizing trail of jade green hair… "What?" Steam poured out of the room and fogged all the windows up. "Phin…? Shit, Phin?" He squinted like he couldn't see me clearly—I suppose the LSD he'd taken earlier had come into effect. "Are you alright?"

"The idiot just puked all over my new jeans!" Isabella scoffed, ebony curls bouncing off her shoulders as she fluidly stood up to show off her vomit soaked pants. "You should tell him a thing or two."

My heart leapt when Ferb completely ignored Isabella's proposition. "Phin, come on in so I can bloody well clean you up." I eagerly got off the mattress and followed him into the sauna of a washroom. Door closed and locked behind us. "What happened?" Ferb murmured, lifting a warm washcloth to my mouth and gently wiping bile away. His attention to detail made me shiver. When wet Ferb's hair looked darker—forest green, moss, the depths of an exotic jungle.

"I-I dunno" I cried licking my lips, they tasted bitter. "Just, I asked where you were and Isabella started fucking bitching me out and…suddenly it was all too much." _Suddenly it was all too real. _"I'm not sure what happened."

"That's Izzy for you." Ferb whispered, tottering a bit. His eyes were closed and I watched—addictively—as the lightly veined lids jumped and spasmed, wishing that I could see what he was seeing. "I feel so purple." I was abruptly leaned against the sink, his hands on either side of my body, his towel fell off, and his breath caressed my chest. "Your aura is red today Monsieur."

Gibberish "Ferb, you're high."

"Thousands of light years from home" He rasped harshly in my ear, rubbing his bare thigh against the denim of mine. I prayed that he wouldn't feel my slowly awakening arousal. _Wrong, wrong, wrong! _I scolded myself for even feeling the way I did. How could Ferb so guiltlessly make-out with Baljeet when I could barely think about how hot he made me? "Wanna join me on this voyage across the galaxies?" He pointed to six tablets lying harmlessly on the crowded countertop.

"Yeah" I breathed, reaching back blindly and clutching two or three of the pills. They were tasteless and delicate on the hot pad of my tongue and chalky when I swallowed. "I feel your pulse."

Ferb smiled knowingly "Sit in the shower Phinny, you're still fucking dirty." I stripped off everything but my boxers, the whole time thinking of how if it were he in this situation all skin would've been laid bare. Bony fingers twisted the tap and warm water that began icy dribbled onto my flesh.

He ground a bar of soap over my sorry being, goosebumps exploded everywhere, I saw stars. "Make me spotless."

"I'll make you into a marble statue, you'll be unmarred and perfect and-" He stopped his tangent right there, opting for silence in the humidity instead.

**April 2008**

We'd played in Oregon, Arizona, Nevada, Colorado (skipping Utah because Screaming at a Concrete Moon had been banned everywhere) and were now in Idaho. Even though they weren't official Ferb had to keep his one-night-stands a secret. Isabella wasn't aware that the notches on the wall beside their bed weren't the amount of days we'd been on tour but actually his girl (and boy) count. Twenty three girls and two boys the week and a half The Highlighters' had been in Oregon. Thirteen women the few days spent in Arizona. Nevada was crazy (Particularly Vegas) where Ferb had courted something mental like thirty four chicks and five guys in a month long span. Colorado wasn't spectacular in the sex department—three boys and eleven girls. Honestly, the sheer amount of people Ferb fucked boggled my mind. Adding it all up came to 81 females and 10 men in around two months, a pace not even allowing the luxury of one-night-stands sometimes. A grand total of 91 was alright for him. Ferb would find the groupies everywhere; in the bathroom of the hotel's or stadiums or clubs we were booked into, in the closet's, in his bed. And he'd take them two at a time, maybe even three. How Isabella never discovered Ferb's sexual escapades made me smile, even though knowing his conquests killed me inside.

It was April fool's day of 2008 that I realized Baljeet's feelings for Ferb had passed from dislike to a passionate hatred. "Oh come on Buford, it'd be funny."

I listened from outside the Dressing Room door. "Jeet even _I_ think that's a bit much. Mind you…"

"Mind you" I heard Baljeet quip, sensed the grin on his lips. "Ferb has turned into a stuck up emotional wreck. And his bitch deserves to know he's fucked-what, 90?-people since the start of the tour."

Buford chuckled "But man, Phin's slept with a good twenty and we're not telling Vanessa."

"Yeah, because we _like _Phinny. Although if he keeps pining after Ferb-"

"He'll _always _be pining after Ferb."

"Fuck, whatever. If he keeps the stupid head-over-heels-for-our-lead-singer shit up we'll be telling Nessa all about Phin's victories too."

It was too much. I whipped the door open and stood in the frame. "You can't tell Izzy!" I exclaimed.

With a toss of his cherry-coke colored mane Baljeet nodded. "Settled. Not only will we make Ferb's cheating known to Isabella but we'll make Phin's unfaithfulness to Vanessa known as well."

"Awh come on Jeet, that's a fucking dick move." I groaned

"Stop your whining. Buford, where's Ferb and the girls?" Baljeet had been the good natured bad boy once, but of course as time progressed became the jealous outcast.

"Ferb's in _his _dressing room and Nessa and Izzy are out back smoking." Buford replied like a good lackey should. "I'll get them."

TTTT

Standing outside of Ferb's dressing room and knowing what was coming made it so much more awkward. Vanessa was clueless to what was coming; she cocked a thin brow and blew a little smoke in my face curiously. "What's this big meeting about?" She snorted, twining a strand of cocoa brown hair about a long finger.

"N-nothing" My voice cracked in teenage-boy fashion.

Buford banged on the door roughly "Open up Fletcher." I despised how Baljeet was changing him, it had to end.

"O-one minute" Ferb panted through only a few inches of wall. Taking that as a go our drummer flung that piece of hardwood—that hid so many things—open. Only to reveal Ferb pressed nakedly to a sandy haired boy with steely irises and a euphoric look in his eyes, the name 'Ferb' had been carved recklessly into his chest.

"Whatcha doi-" Isabella's trademark question cut off by the dirty sight.

"Ferb loves you." Baljeet commented, then acidly "April fool's"

**May 2008**

I could hear them fucking through the plaster that stood between the main room and washrooms. Vanessa squealing in ecstasy with Baljeet pounding her into the bathtub. "Fuck" Her voice—twisted with pleasure—came through. Ever since it'd been revealed to her that I was unfaithful Nessa just hadn't been as into me. We still slept together but she'd taken to banging Jeet and when he wasn't available to sucking Buford off on the toilet.

Spine against lumpy mattress. On tour for almost four months, through half the country; California, Oregon, Arizona, Nevada, Idaho, Montana, Wyoming, Colorado, Texas, Oklahoma, North and South Dakota, Kansas and Minnesota. Besides the unsettling noise of Baljeet porking Vanessa like there was no tomorrow all was silkily serene. The sole light was one cast from the crescent moon through elegant purple curtain; it spilled out over the sleeping form of Ferb. Isabella no longer lay beside him, she took the couch. In the lacy cerulean his skin became a racetrack of blue veins spliced into ivory. His hair a lush washed out green. Every curve and contour-the sunkenness beneath those daintily shut eyelids, the hollows between protruding ribs—highlighted in sallow cornflower.

We'd traveled nearly four months in the confines of a trashy trailer, playing to hostility. Now here we were; Baljeet banging my girl, Buford slumped over an armchair drunkenly, Isabella curled up on the couch and Ferb sprawled across his uneven mattress. I began pondering what adjectives, what nouns or verbs or tenses I could use in describing him. Only to sickly realize that any word I grasped was either too stupid or too serious to ever apply.

_**Present Day**_

_The VCR slaps back Ferb's video cassette with vigor. There's a violet smudge surrounding the TV screen…or maybe that's just the low, I'm sinking a billion fathoms into the foamy, foreboding sea of my psyche. And it's agonizing. _

_Ferb's on the television set sitting cross-legged on a Chelsea Hotel bed, his feather-light weight barely denting the duvet. He's decked out in what he wore the night of The Highlighters breakthrough performance; a buttermilk white dress-shirt and worn jeans. Only now he's barefoot, the shirt hangs off his skeletal frame loosely, and those skinny-ass jeans that never would've fit Baljeet or I in the first place appear to be gargantuan to his pallor. His Telecaster is placed carelessly across his twisted thighs, the black leather strap taught over muscle-less shoulders. "Phineas" The use of my title slams me into sobriety. "I never meant to hurt you; I never meant the thing's I said. I never wanted Isabella. And I fucking know there's __**no **__way I can ever make it up to you in words. So instead I'll play you a song that says it all." I recognized the sweet sonoroe from the first strum of his unplugged electric guitar. _

"_**Angie, Angie, when will those clouds all disappear?**_

_**Angie, Angie, where will it lead us from here?**_

_**With no loving in our souls and no money in our coats**_

_**You can't say we're satisfied**_

_**But Angie, Angie, you can't say we never tried**_

_**Angie, you're beautiful, but ain't it time we said good-bye?**_

_**Angie, I still love you, remember all those nights we cried?**_

_**All the dreams we held so close seemed to all go up in smoke**_

_**Let me whisper in your ear:**_

_**Angie, Angie, where will it lead us from here?"**_

_I feel like suffocating myself with pillows. That incredible voice, heart stopping presence caught on video. I scan every detail of his person, retinas and cerebrum processing everything despite their narcotics tinted state. The edgy and narrow facial features, saucer cup eyes, Mick-Jagger-fucked-Sid-Vicious- lips, crooked teeth, dark hollows ringing optics, skin a plasticized clammy white, hair—now down a few inches past the jutting collar bones—slick with it's own grease, the brown dye now only marring the split tips and of course those telltale irises, glimmering against all odds. What's the significance of all those pretty words bubbling from his mouth? How could he think I'd understand what he meant? "Jeet" I sputter, saliva spewing down my chin "What's he on about? Why're you crying?" _

"_Phinny. Don't you see?" Baljeet can't even continue, he grinds his palm into his teeth and sobs. "Why-why can't you be fucking sober? Why can't you understand?" _

"_Understand what?"_

_Tawny fingers seize my throat. "WHAT THIS MEANS! WHY CAN'T YOU UNDERSTAND WHAT THIS MEANS?" He gestures madly towards the Television set. "This fucking stupid VHS was Ferb's cryptic way of saying he never loved Isabella, saying that it was you. That it was __**always **__you." _

"_W-what?" Realization hits me like a vat of flesh eating acid. Ferb made this recording for me, sung The Rolling Stones' 'Angie' ampless and nakedly for me, bearing all emotion like never before. "Y-you mean, it-it was all for nothing." A statement rather than a question. Vision turns inky blue. No. I'd rather him have been engaged to Isabella than this. _

"_**Oh, Angie, don't you weep, all your kisses still taste sweet**_

_**I hate that sadness in your eyes**_

_**But Angie, Angie, ain't it time we said good-bye?**_

_**With no loving in our souls and no money in our coats**_

_**You can't say we're satisfied**_

_**But Angie, I still love you, baby**_

_**Everywhere I look I see your eyes**_

_**There ain't a woman that comes close to you**_

_**Come on Baby, dry your eyes**_

_**But Angie, Angie, ain't it good to be alive?"**_

_At that last line my will to live is all but extinguished. Baljeet is staring through me icily "You killed him for nothing Phin. For nothing-" _

_Jeet's sentence is broken by the sick sweet noise of Ferb's voice "Please Phinny, get this before you do anything stupid. I need help, bad man." _

"**There is nothing stable in the world; uproar's your only music."-John Keats**


	15. What a Drag it is Getting Old

**A surprisingly fast update. Only two-three reviews but I'm proud to say that hasn't yet impeded my writing. To my reviewers, much love. Anywho this chapter practically wrote itself. It's pretty long compared to some and actually only covers one day. XD Uhm what to say, what to say…Oh right, a lot of this chapter includes content from the movie The Runaways; I just figured that some of what happened between Joan and Cherie fitted Phin and Ferb to perfection. On another note Ferb's onstage outfit was inspired partly by Cherie Currie and partly by the late, great Brian Jones. Oh and (thinking WAY ahead) I've figured out that after Free Bird I'm going to write a third installment that basically consists of interviews, articles and other people (Baljeet, Isabella, the parents etc…)'s opinions, it's gonna be called American Pie or The Day The Music Died. Enjoy! Don't hesitate to REVIEW (Okay I just sound desperate now)**

**~~Peace, Love, Flowers, Puppies, Candy, Nirvana~~**

**~~Mick~~!**

**Disclaimer: Phineas & Ferb, The Runaways and Mother's Little Helper-The Rolling Stones aren't mine! Don't sue me! **

**PS; Happy birthday Kurt Cobain! Oh but he never would've wanted to reach 44 anyways. Oh and check out my drawing of what I see Ferb as looking like throughout this series; .com/#/d37zgvr**

_**What a drag it is getting old**_

_**"Kids are different today"**_

_**I hear ev'ry mother say**_

_**Mother needs something today to calm her down**_

_**And though she's not really ill**_

_**There's a little yellow pill**_

_**She goes running for the shelter of a mother's little helper**_

_**And it helps her on her way, gets her through her busy day**_

_**"Things are different today"**_

_**I hear ev'ry mother say**_

_**Cooking fresh food for a husband's just a drag**_

_**So she buys an instant cake and she burns her frozen steak**_

_**And goes running for the shelter of a mother's little helper**_

_**And two help her on her way; get her through her busy day**_

_**What a Drag it is Getting Old**_

**June 2008**

"The Glycerin King?" Buford's coal black brows lifted in amusement, holding up a Times Magazine article. "Where'd they come up with that?"

"Because…I'm a fucking fire cracker? I don't bloody well know do I?" Ferb answered, spooning a mouthful of Lucky Charms into his mouth. It was the first time I'd seen him eat in a long while. Anorexia paired with an addiction to sugar never exactly fared well together for him.

"Sort of a rip off of Suzi Quatro I think." Baljeet spoke snarkily, continuing to fry a package of bacon.

"Come on Jeet it's not like Ferb asked for them to call him it." I rolled my eyes melodramatically and went back to reading S.E. Hinton's 'The Outsiders' for the millionth time.

"The Outsiders?" Ferb smirked, for once not under the influence of anything but exhaustion and the consequences of regular drug use. "Come over here Phinny, we need to find you a new book." Despite his underweight and over-indulgent-in-self-destructive-choices appearance Ferb was quite the intellectual. He read as many books as he could at any given time. From the sciences to the Romantics. From the occult to identifying flowers. But no matter what he stayed true to his first love; poetry. Ferb could recite verses by Arthur Rimbaud, Jim Morrison, John Keats, Oscar Wilde, Percy Shelley, Lord Byron, William Blake, Shakespeare and countless others. Before yearning to be a rock 'n' roll great he'd yearned to be The American Poet.

"This looks interesting." I mused and picked up an anthology of Edgar Allan Poe.

"No" Ferb shook his jade mullet. "I don't want you reading anything dark like Poe. Here, John Keats." I was handed the book without being asked whether I wanted it or not.

"Why John Keats?"

"Because Keats is a Romantic and you need his words of wisdom. The flight to Japan is a long one, there's something you can fucking read." My pale cheeks flushed, for Ferb this gesture was golden.

"What're you gonna read?"

Ferb sighed as if the answer were a blatantly obvious one. "Rimbaud, he's my one and only." He proceeded to ash his cigarette onto the pages of one of Isabella's many Tiger Beat magazines, she only kept the ones she actually had articles in but Ferb thought they were a waste of space even though his literature took up far more room. "Maybe some Oscar Wilde too. Or actually…I'm trying to finish Ophelia; I just haven't had the time."

TTTT

The Times Magazine article Buford cut out and shoved in my jeans pocket earlier distracted me from John Keats' prose. I decided that first and foremost I would read the opinion piece on The Highlighters'. There was a scratchy photo of us featured on the cover, Ferb standing out most of course.

**The Glycerin King and His Menagerie Live a Life of Excess: Marilyn Shaw, Times Magazine**

**I was lucky to get an interview with Rock 'N' Rolls most sought after boy; Ferb Fletcher (26 years old as of February 28th) let alone get to snoop around his trailer while the rest of the band was out. Ever since the release of Two-Way Romeo Highlighters' front man Ferb has been in high demand. The sheer amount of Highlighters' memorabilia being created already is mind blowing and reminiscent of Beatlemania or Rolling Stones fanatics. Despite all this Fletcher's one is a humble abode. The Highlighters' trailer is a very open space (the bathroom being the sole room with a door) containing four mattresses, a couch, a tiny dining table, fridge, torrents of purple curtain, Television set and most surprisingly a vast collection of literature which turn out to be owned by Fletcher himself. I'd never had the green haired front man made out to be an intellectual but looks can be deceiving. Going through Ferb's concoction of books I barely notice Fletcher's self proclaimed fuck-buddy and fellow rock journalist Isabella Garcia-Shapiro enter. She makes herself a rum and coke—offering me one which I gladly accept—and flipping on the TV. Droves of empty liquor, beer and predominantly vodka bottles line the dirty sink along with a rainbow of cigarette cases. **

"Oi, that doesn't look like John Keats" Ferb sing sang, striding past me to his seat a few rows behind. He'd opted to sit alone amongst strangers while I was wedged between a window (thankfully) and Baljeet, Buford and Isabella were in the seats ahead of us and Vanessa and Mason to the seats back. Accompanied by a playful roll of optics I pocketed the article once again and slipped out Ferb's booklet of Keats poetry. Flipped to a random page; 78.

'_Bright star, would I were steadfast as thou art_

_Not in lone splendor hung aloft the night_

_And watching, with eternal lids apart,_

_Like nature's patient, sleepless Eremite,_

_The moving waters at their priest like task_

_Of pure ablution round earth's human shores,_

_Or gazing on the new soft fallen mask_

_Of snow upon the mountains and the moors_

_No-yet still steadfast, still unchangeable,_

_Pillow'd upon my fair love's ripening breast,_

_To feel for ever its soft fall and swell,_

_Awake for ever in a sweet unrest,_

_Still, still to hear her tender-taken breath,_

_And so live ever-or else swoon to death.'_

Such coincidence that Ferb was my Bright Star, feeling the slow rise and fall of his bony chest sent me soaring. Sleep overcame; I slumped against the cool window pane, dreaming only of tasting his sweet flesh. "Phin, Phin" The rasp of lips pressed to my ears sent a chill down my spine only to pitch my stomach into a rage of butterflies when I recognized the voice. "Rise and shine, we're almost there and Iought to get rid of this lot." I got up in a haze, stumbling down the aisles turbulently. We finally reached the tiny box of a bathroom. Ferb tugged the front of my threadbare Megadeth t-shirt so we stood pressed against each other.

"We're landing soon?" I asked again, still confused that time had escaped me.

"The plane is" Ferb responded, mouth touching my neck. "But we're not" One long-fingered hand produced a baggie of ivory crystals and the other a straw. He poured the powder onto my sweaty left palm, grins were contagious and soon I was smiling as carnivorously as he. Ferb dipped his head down and ran his nostril over one line. I proceeded to do the same. Next round we used the straw, and then when there was only but little remaining he laid his cheek to my wrist and oh so enticingly licked the cocaine off of my ashen skin. Even when the drug was gone Ferb continued to nibble at my palm, he began kissing the inside of my wrist, tongue tracing up my arm, over my shoulder, leaving beating red hickies in its wake. Mouth grinding against my Adam's apple, tugging the barbell through my lobe, turning me on painfully fast. Butterfly lips on my jaw line, cheeks…so close to my own writhing tongue. I moaned, suddenly Ferb seemed to realize what he was doing. His eyes widened at our current position; him leaning over me, our faces so close, angled so perfectly, my boner embarrassingly obvious. His stare got harder, and for that split second we were epic. Every love story you ever heard of, we were Romeo and fucking Juliet because my heart stopped in my chest and there was no one else alive. It was Ferb and I and the nondescript blue of American Airline's bathroom tile floor, just not caring. He flung open the washroom door and bolted.

I sat on the toilet for a long time after that. It became devastatingly clear; this thing could not be rationalized. I felt so dirty, jacking off to the thought of him having his way with me…if only for ten minutes. When I haltingly made my way back to my seat Ferb was staring blankly forward. "F-Ferb" I stammered. But of course he'd decided to perform what seemed to be his new favorite tactic when dealing with me; pretend I didn't exist. It was juvenile and completely uncalled for. And I really wished I could say it didn't hurt like a son of a bitch every time he did it.

TTTT

Japan was Highlighters mania. "FERB! FERB! FERB!" Droves of Asian fan girls and boys chanted as we exited our limousine. I suppose saying it was Highlighter mania would be a joke, it was _Ferb _mania. He was the one they lusted after, it was he who the magazines interviewed, photographed addictively, pined for a taste of. It was he who the pretty little teenage girls and long haired lanky boys would soulfully fuck any way he wanted it just because it was _Ferb Fletcher. _And God was he moving. "Holy fuck" I gasped as we stumbled into our dressing room, leaving torrents of fans behind the Plexiglas door.

Baljeet flopped down on a flimsy couch beside Buford and Vanessa. Mason and Isabella were nowhere to be found, so I did what I did best at those times; fucked up further. Into Ferb's Dressing Room, one hour till performance. "Ferb" I breathed upon entering.

"Phin?" His words came out exaggeratedly high pitched. "I'm naked, gimme a few." Trying to shake away the images that phrase provoked in my mind was nothing but futile. Ferb came out wearing clothing entirely unique—or that was the nice way of putting it. Coal eyeliner, rouge blush and lipstick, sky-high white platform boots, cutoff blue jeans, plain black leather belt, a pinstriped suit jacket and a grey tweed Fedora.

"What are you _wearing_?" I asked rather rudely. Ferb shrugged coyly, puckering those ruby lips tauntingly. "You're going to get us into so much trouble, you know that?" I mused, and of course he did.

"Up or down Phinny?" From ratty jean pockets came an assortment of cream and purple toned pills. "I'm" Smirk "Going down" Ferb dropped four of the violet tablets onto glossy wooden floor and crushed them with the platform of those white vinyl boots. He slinked to his bony knees and snorted the pill powder from the ground in a most sensual manner. There was no choice left, I realized, holding the cream pills. I was going up.

TTTT

After an exhilarating and blood pumping performance we were back in our private room. I never thought I'd live to see the day Baljeet tried to receive fellatio on stage; resulting in a splintered guitar and badly bruised groupie, or Ferb kneeling and grabbing at the audiences throats, moaning Two-Way Romeo like it gave him orgasmic pleasure.

"That was great man" Buford sighed happily, smoking an inch thick joint. Ferb nodded his agreement and lit up a Peter Jackson.

"WHAT THE FUCK IS THIS?" Baljeet stormed in and whipped a thick stack of magazines across the room at Ferb, sucker punching him in the gut with them.

Rosy mouth parted, the cigarette bobbing between lips. "P-Paul sent them over."

"Oh man, this is cool" Buford chuckled, flipping through one.

"No" Baljeet sneered "No it's NOT _cool_"

I eagerly clawed for a copy. My eyes widened at the content, some cheap Japanese borderline-pornography magazine. "When did you do this?"

"Before we left" Ferb shrugged, but I could see the beads of sweat beginning to clot his pallid features. Page upon page of him draped in nothing but a purple lace blanket, mouth open, tongue poking out, hair messy, eyes glittering.

"This is exactly what Paul wants, he'll be really happy" I spoke harshly, sounding out every syllable. "But this is _all_ they'll ever say about us."

"Well…what could I do? The photographers just showed up at the trailer after my interview with Times..."

"You could've said _something _Ferb. You could've said, I'm the lead singer of a band. Not Linda fucking Lovelace!" Never had I spoken to him with such sulfuric intent.

"Its publicity" He whined "It's good for everyone!"

"Publicize the music, not your fucking crotch!" I yelled in his face. Ferb bit down on his lip, crushed the cigarette butt into carpeted floor and ran. Nothing new there.

TTTT

"I heard he OD'd" The teenager's broken-English slur caught my attention.

"What?" Frantic, who? Who overdosed, fear flew up my throat and then settled at the pit of my stomach, brick heavy silt.

"Floor 4" She said, cocking her tiny face and letting iron-straight ebony locks pour down her shoulders. "Highlighters' OD'd"

No time to thank the girl. I leapt into an elevator and booked it up to Floor 4. I hadn't even begun to step out when a stretcher was jammed in beside me. "What happened?"

A paramedic furrowed his brows at me "We're not able to disclose that information." It didn't matter; one look at the stretcher said it all. My heart lurched; those primal terrors had had some truth. His eyes were shut tight smearing Kohl, the emerald hair slick with water, his already pale skin blanched almost too blue. Where had he gone, the showers?

It took all I had in me to hold back the bile. "Mason?" Only then did it occur to me our manager had been standing silently beside the paramedics the whole time. "Mason what happened?"

"He just…he jus' collapsed mate. One minute I was chatting away to him the next he was falling face first outside the lift" I could see his grimy fingers twitch for the potent release of a cigarette. "A fucking whole lot of journalists got pictures of the whole thing. Publicity mate." He winked knowingly and that was all; I puked.

TTTT

Days. Weeks. Months. Infinity. Four hours, who knew four hours could become forever? I shot out of the hospital seat when Ferb's luscious midnight lashes quaked. My whole body had become stiff and dirty, but it didn't matter. My entire world lied in the balance of his recovery. His irises lit up and lips parted, breathing in sterilized air raggedly. "How are you feeling?" I moved closer, resting my hand on the edge of the bed.

"Like a peach"

I smiled hotly, count on Ferb to cause such a reaction. "Yeah, like a really fucking bruised peach."

No reply, instead he flipped over and fell into a shaky sleep. I sighed, climbed into the hospital bed and held him around his sunken in belly. Tubes and wires poked through Paper Mache skin, some people were just bestowed with tragedy. "Hey Phin"

I jumped when he talked, blushing because he'd been awake when I silently joined him. "Yeah?"

"Promise me you'll never forget me, ever. Not even in a thousand lives."

Tears sprung to my eyes, my insides jolted with the electricity he exuded unintentionally. He drifted off—this time for real—before I could reply. One snowy cheek tremored; an angel they'd frozen in status, raped, tortured and put on display.

_**Doctor please, some more of these**_

_**Outside the door, she took four more**_

_**What a drag it is getting old**_

_**"Men just aren't the same today"**_

_**I hear ev'ry mother say**_

_**They just don't appreciate that you get tired**_

_**They're so hard to satisfy; You can tranquilize your mind**_

_**So go running for the shelter of a mother's little helper**_

_**And four help you through the night; help to minimize your plight**_

_**Doctor please, some more of these**_

_**Outside the door, she took four more**_

_**What a drag it is getting old**_

_**"Life's just much too hard today,"**_

_**I hear ev'ry mother say**_

_**The pursuit of happiness just seems a bore**_

_**And if you take more of those, you will get an overdose**_

_**No more running for the shelter of a mother's little helper**_

_**They just helped you on your way, through your busy dying day**_

"Beauty of whatever kind, in its supreme development, invariably excites the sensitive soul to tears."-Edgar Allan Poe


	16. Were You Really Here?

**YAY AN UPDATE! Oh I must say my reviews lately have been much more inspiring then they've been in a while. For that I thank you all my faithful reviewers old and new! Your input made me so happy. Anywho this chapter is pretty long, just The Highlighters three month European tour. Well its four months actually I have the next chapter set to be them live in England. But anyways I really hope you enjoy the chapter and what else is there to say…Watch Brothers of the Head (Oh but there are so many more inspirations then just that sole film now) and you know what either at the end of this story or somewhere in an AU I'm going to post a full list of the books and movies and people and things that make me continue writing. Stay black.**

**~~Mick~~!**

**Disclaimer: Phineas and Ferb eez no mine. Neither is Fantasies by The Runaways **

_**Night visions of fantasies**_

_**Are laying in bed with me**_

_**In the dark I can see you smiling**_

_**You touch my body and set my soul on fire**_

_**Oh yeah**_

_**I can see morning light**_

_**The sun is rising, shining in your eyes**_

_**Suddenly you're gone**_

_**And I'm left here all alone**_

_**Oh yeah**_

_**Am I dreaming?**_

_**Were you really here?**_

_**Is it just a fantasy?**_

_**Or am I dreaming**_

_**Oh yeah**_

_**Am I dreaming?**_

_**Were you really here?**_

_**Were You Really Here?**_

_Baljeet's rants become ochre liquid in my stupefied state. I slide out of consciousness for the umpteenth time, aqua hue; I can suddenly taste the vibrancy. I know that I've slipped into the faceless heaven of planet black when I spy the telltale form of Ferb Fletcher snaking his way to my bed. Baljeet is still sitting beside me but he's smudged pastel; a nameless blob of russet and ebony and indigo, in another dimension completely. _

"_Phineas" Dream-Ferb's voice must be the most lyrical and delicious thing I've ever heard. Time collapses, my heart beats in sync to his. Only…something's wrong. I can see through his marble skin, literally watch his meaty tar heart move up and down as it pumps life giving blood through baby blue vein and blackened sinew. But he's __**so**__ wondrous. "Phinny, I need you" My entrails flip flop, perspiration drips down the globes of my cheeks in dewy gold. Before I know it my wrists are bound to scratchy bedposts, tied with strips of his dress shirt. He's leaning over me wearing nothing save for a faded dog collar and a Fedora. He smiles and I stifle a scream with one too-long purple sleeve. The slightly crooked teeth are stained red at the gums, a red that gradually fades to off white. And his lips (They're so close, I can taste his essence on the air) they're the clammy blue of a month old corpse, that is until my cloudy gaze reaches the delicate part between those full pieces of flesh. At said part, on both top and bottom, the color changes to crimson. A too-bright cerise that is entirely unnatural against the dirt smudged ivory of his translucent face. He's filthy and naked and his lolling rose tongue is lapping at my collar bone (leaving fiery burns as it moves) and quickly wandering lower. _

"_Ferb" I pull him up with a rough fistful of grassy hair. Two mouths steaming and open, tongues dancing eagerly inside their own caves. "Mmm" I whimper, his whole body takes on an ethereal yellow light. He brings his boiling teeth nearer and snags my lower lip, grinding creamy enamel into my flesh. And then he's deteriorating before my eyes (just like he did in life) and I'm screaming so hard I feel my eyes bulge. _

"_PHIN! PHIN!" Urgent and accented noises from the other world drift through my cerebrum like shallow waves. "Phin what's wrong?" I try to stop the hallucination, the dream, the __**nightmare**__. It's ceaseless though, I can't unsee Ferb's pale skin falling off in clumps, leaving gapes of fluorescent skull open, eyes dimming, everything graying. "Phin" Baljeet digging his nails into my shoulder blades and slamming me up and down against the bed brings me back. _

"_Wha-?" Clueless, I wander if he saw dream-Ferb too. I'm thankful for his sweat soaked blankets impairing Jeet's vision of my lower half and my shameless arousal. I still see him. Baljeet is here and Ferb is but a crystallized shadow in the guilt wracked attic of my mind. _

**July 2008; Scotland & Ireland**

"I miss home" Finally voicing my melancholy musings let me breathe a sigh of relief.

"I don't" Ferb shot back; he still looked tired from his Ecstasy OD a month ago. Hard to believe that some twenty days had passed since then and that we were now sat in a Scottish hotel along Loch Ness at four in the morning. He glanced left. "It's Nelly, right?"

"Kelly" Corrected his groupie; a waif of a boy with shoulder length white-gold curls. The hair paired with his petite stature made him look like a cross between Robert Plant and Randy Rhoads, not entirely undesirable. Isabella flanked Ferb's opposite side, her velvety brown gaze attuned to more important things than her man's growing penchant for the same sex.

"That's a nice name" Ferb mouthed into the boy's silky neck, Kelly smiled saccharinely in response. He must've been no more then seventeen, a nine year gap neither party gave a shit for. "Cigarette?" Ferb's tiny blonde gladly took the cancer stick and popped it between flowery lips—lips soon to be wrapped around something entirely different. I felt sick watching unfathomable jade irises eagerly eat up the sight of Kelly's slightly open mouth, the juicy red gums, delicate tongue and braced teeth.

"I'd like one." Isabella said robotically (trying to mask her rage), Ferb carelessly threw her the pack and blew a mocking kiss. He chuckled a bit and then dove down, capturing Kelly's mouth with his as soon as the blonde pulled the cigarette away.

"Pass it here Is" She handed me the case of Peter Jackson's stoically and I grinned. I grinned maliciously because I loved to see her so pissed off at Ferb's lack of interest in her jet-black perm and C-cup tits and neon white teeth. But my upturned flesh soon withered, after all how could one stay in a good mood when their everything was shirtlessly making out with a seventeen year old boy on the couch across from them?

TTTT

Throughout our stay in the rustic countries I was left to my thought's a lot. Vanessa, Baljeet and Buford had formed some tight knit group constantly glaring at Ferb and I while Isabella spent her time on her phone talking to the head's of Times and Rolling Stone and The Sun. Of course Ferb indulged in it all; when he wasn't performing, fucking or getting high he was studying ancient texts on Demonology and the elusive Faerie. He began to fancy himself one of the 'Unseelie Court'—which he explained to me in grueling detail-were evil fae. Not only that but his strange tendencies grew; he'd only snort blow from between the pages of literature and his mood swings were more vicious. He would send flower filled vases across the room at anybody's slightest criticism, he was constantly angry that The Highlighters weren't as big as The Beatles and that the music industry was all about the money. Money, Ferb refused it, he liked living on the edge as Jim Morrison and Arthur Rimbaud and so many others before him had. He chose homelessness and dingy hotels over Epicureanism. Despite innumerable flaws the Scottish and Irish audiences like the American ones never tired of his blazing stage presence. Never tired of Ferb Fletcher this…this twenty six year old who looked about sixteen, whose skin was milky white, whose irises were cats' eye green and whose speaking voice was smooth as butter and innocent as a child's. I suppose that's what was so everlastingly alluring, his public loss of innocence. Before The Highlighters Ferb had laid three girls, before The Highlighters Ferb barley spoke. It blew my mind that on stage he would lose that sweet-little-British-boy tone and take on this roughness in a millisecond.

I recall once catching him doze off in a doped up state in an Edinburgh hotel. Ferb had his elfish chin propped up on a sweaty hand. When he smiled and beckoned me closer the music became a dull throb overridden by the sharp cackle of Vanessa's far away laughter. "Sleep with me" I took his outstretched arm in my fingers and felt reality fall away, ivory ringed our nostrils. He was Christopher Robin with a cocaine addiction and emerald eyes, Little Boy Blue who tore apart stadiums with his raw singing and mastery of the electric guitar rather than merely blow a horn. Inside his dressing room we flopped down on the raggedy mattress he insisted upon and Ferb pulled out a packet of crushed up Ecstasy pills. He drizzled the powder onto my bare chest and snorted it. My breath was hot and heavy with his tongue roving my belly, I bit my lip knowing any moment he could turn and run. He didn't though. Instead flicked the lurid lamplight off and curled up under layers of blankets-his underweight frame twitching-and lit a smoke. "Goodnight Phinny" I laid breathless beside him, almost in tears.

"G'night Ferb."

Intoxicating. Then I understood his appeal. Even if I _was _the popular one in grade school Ferb was the one who was always charging ahead without thinking. He was the one who had all the best ideas, all the greatest jokes, and he was so fucking smart that he made me almost think learning was cool. Yeah, fuck yeah. I knew what it was like to best friends with Ferb Fletcher. And yeah I knew what it was like to be in love with him. The latter feeling only agonized as time progressed.

**August 2008; France**

What's the first thing a boy should do when he reaches France? Sample wine? Hire a perfumed and rouged hooker? Smoke the finest cigarettes? No. Not Ferb. He chose to hit up Père Lachaise—and no, Père Lachaise _wasn't _a bar or a renowned club—it was a fucking cemetery. Behind the thick black iron lied the bodies of Oscar Wilde, Jim Morrison, Moliere and countless others. We followed the winding road to The Lizard King's tomb. Ferb dropped to his knee's in front of the gravestone with enough force to badly bruise them. I knew nobody else could feel what he was feeling. I don't recall how I knew it but I did. Ferb was a coked up wreck, a hundred pounds of skin and bone pressed against dirt and precariously shod grass just six feet above the body of _Jim Morrison. _

"What's wrong now Princess, no cameras? No press to chart your every move?" Baljeet copped tiredly, nodding to Ferb's whimpering form.

"Shut the _fuck _up Jeet" I seethed, balling fists "Shut the FUCK up!"

"Well come on he's being ridiculous." The Indian replied, tossing back a greasy strand of black-brown hair. His hazel eyes darted too and fro catching everybody taking a look. "And Phin, _you_ just caused a fucking scene."

"GOOD!" I screamed "Let me cause a fucking scene Jeet. Since when is there something wrong with crying by the grave of a fallen hero? Have a little empathy for Christ's sake." France was the first place where cinnamon knuckles connected with my jaw; I stood stunned for a moment or two and then leapt upon him. My hands yanked the front of Baljeet's Iron Maiden t-shirt wide open in their frantic clamor to reach his face. He let out a groan and managed to flip me onto my back. And before I'd even tried I gave up, there was no point in attempting to really beat him. I offhandedly thought that the crowd gathering around us might maybe have smelt the bile that rose in my throat. A sickness thrown there because even when it was for Ferb I wasn't strong enough to hold up. Ironically cameras _did_ begin flashing and chatter in Romance's native language rose to a buzz in the hollow of my mouth. A patent leather motorcycle boot caught me under the ribs and when I finally recovered from the painful hit I realized that Buford not Jeet had doled the kick. "Buford?" I choked out, spitting up a spot of crimson. "Has he really made you hate me that much?"

Resentment pooled in the icy spheres of Buford's eyes fleetingly. "Fuck off Phin" He spewed saliva onto the carefully cut cemetery grass surrounding me.

"Stop it." Ferb's gentle voice floated above our more guttural ones. "Just. Stop. It" A clear tear trail cut through the dripping black eyeliner marring his cheeks. We were all stunned to silence; Buford crossed his tree trunk arms, Baljeet put on a bratty sneer and I allowed my mouth to fall slack. Instead of strutting up to Jeet enraged Ferb hooked his scarecrow fingers in the collar of my shirt and snarled "I can fight my own fucking battles Phineas."

**September 2008; Germany **

**Think The Highlighters are your run of the mill band? Think again.**

**Early last month rising stars Ferb Fletcher, Phin Flynn, Baljeet Patel and Buford Von Stomm of The Highlighters were spotted visiting the Père Lachaise cemetery in France-renowned for being the burial ground of such epics as Oscar Wilde, Jim Morrison and Moliere. Upon reaching the much vandalized gravesite of Doors front man Jim Morrison Fletcher was reported to have fallen to his knees and wept. Before the eyes of countless tourists and innocent passerby's a scene unfolded. Baljeet Patel—rhythm guitarist with a wicked streak—wouldn't stand for Fletcher's drama and began to curse the singer/lead guitarist out. Phin Flynn—bassist and much praised sweetheart—came to his step brother's defense in a matter of moments after which Patel and drummer Buford Von Stomm started physically attacking Flynn. To the three band member's awe Fletcher (rumored-despite the media's portrayal of him-to be the band's peace keeper) suddenly spoke up—by this time a crowd had gathered, some individuals recorded video footage on their phones while others only took photos—and blatantly told them to stop it. He then proceeded to ungratefully and unceremoniously tell Flynn to let him fight his own battles. Think The Highlighters are your regular run of the mill pop band? Think again. **

"First he OD's on Ecstasy and now this?" Mason's beady eyes stuck up above the newspaper, looking at us all—especially Ferb—disapprovingly.

"Suck on it." Ferb muttered through a hazy smoke ring. "OI IZZY, IS IT READY?"

From the hotel's tiny kitchen came Isabella's tired reply "Yeah, yeah a fucking minute." She came out holding a tin tray adorned with a thick brown cake. "Space cake for all."

"That's it I'm fucking buying us a case of beer." Mason stood brashly and practically ran out the door—we all knew he wasn't really getting beer; there _were_ four cases in the fridge, he just needed an excuse to check out Germany's many strip clubs. Not to mention he _hated_ being around us when we got intoxicated, when we got _dangerous_.

"You're just a fucking publicity hound ain't you?" Buford spat toxically, receiving an approving nod from Jeet. I said nothing, _fight your own battles asshole, _and sent Vanessa a provocative wink. Better to fuck a girl than to pine over a boy.

"_Blackbird singing in the dead of night_" Ferb plucked twangy guitar strings and murmured the Beatles masterpiece all to himself. There were no groupies tonight. Just Ferb, cocaine and his Telecaster. "_Take these broken wings and learn to fly_"

"Ferb" Baljeet sang, trying to get a rise out of him. But for once in his entire adult life Ferb held it in. He bit a scarlet lip and continued playing 'Blackbird' with lace like intricacy.

I tore my eyes from Vanessa without much difficulty and landed them on emeralds. "I miss home too Phin."

_**Is it just a fantasy?**_

_**Or am I dreaming**_

_**Oh yeah**_

_**I know you're here**_

_**I can feel your presence**_

_**And that sound you're making**_

_**It's getting me so hot**_

_**Oh yeah**_

_**Am I dreaming?**_

_**Were you really here?**_

_**Is it just a fantasy?**_

_**Or am I dreaming**_

_**Oh yeah**_

**"Whatever bad things John said about me, he would also slip his glasses down to the end of his nose and say, 'I love you.' That's really what I hold on to. That's what I believe." - Paul McCartney**


	17. The Killer in Me Is the Killer in You

**Damn this story is starting to write itself isn't it? I wrote this in about what three days? I'm not quite sure but yay fast update! I think I only got two or three reviews but they were two or three motivating and lovely reviews I think the world of. Thank you guys so much for the support. There's not much to this chapter really, just the last leg of The Highlighters European tour. **

**~~Mick~~!**

**Disclaimer: Phin and Ferb and Disarm by The Smashing Pumpkins aren't mine!**

**Disarm you with a smile**

**And cut you like you want me to**

**Cut that little child**

**Inside of me and such a part of you**

**Ooh, the years burn**

**Ooh, the years burn**

**I used to be a little boy**

**So old in my shoes**

**And what I choose is my choice**

**What's a boy supposed to do?**

**The killer in me is the killer in you**

**My love**

**I send this smile over to you**

_**The Killer in Me Is the Killer in You**_

**October 31****st**** 2008; The Highlighters Live in England**

"Grandpa" Heartbreaking that's what it was.

"Who?" The original Fletcher frowned again, staring at Ferb quizzically. We—that is Ferb, Isabella and I—had been congregated around the front entrance of Mr. Fletcher's London home for some time now.

"You really don't recognize me do you?" Ferb mouthed, lake-green eyes watering. The old man looked down his wrinkled nose at the adolescent boy before him; all shaggy hair, see-thru skin and jutting bones.

"Who?"

TTTT

"FUCK, SHIT, SON OF A BITCH" Amongst the many sounds of a concert in preparation came the telltale screams of Ferb having some sort of breakdown or bad trip. We'd all gotten used to it by now, and after his snarky remarks about fighting for himself in France I'd really felt a lot less compassion for him. "COCKSUCKING MOTHER FUCKING CHRIST"

"Man, Christ is gonna smite him something fearful." I spoke to myself but received a trill of laughter in response. "Who's there?"

"Me Phin" Isabella stepped out from behind an amp, holding a few cords and a strap peg for Jeet's broken Les Paul. Her usually minutely-curled hair was thrown over to one side in a sort of 80's style. Her slightly large nose became lovely beneath unused stage lights and the wild tinge of cocaine.

"You look beautiful." I rasped, and then whacked my hand over my mouth. "Sorry—it's just" She shushed me with a press of one manicured fingernail to my cracked lips.

"I wish Ferb'd tell me that more often" Izzy mused, wrapping a tendril of my fiery hair about herself. "Sometimes I wander why I chose him." Perfect. It was perfect. My way of getting acidic revenge. I gave her a childish smile, moving ever closer until we found ourselves shut up in a Boys Washroom stall. "Phin" She moaned my name, I knew all her ticks, it's not like we hadn't fucked before. "We can't do this"

"Yes we can" I smashed my mouth to hers, dug one fist into her raven-plume locks and slid the other hand between her slickening thighs. Convincing Isabella to let me have my way with her wasn't that difficult; after I jammed three fingers deep inside her she pulled off her fuchsia mini skirt and spread her legs.

"_Phin_" She squealed helplessly and wrapped her silky legs around my waist, slamming me into her harder and harder. There came an audible gasp, my boner died with the sight of Ferb's expression. I suddenly forget why I ever wanted to get even with him for being a dick to me in France. Isabella let her breath out in a bout of warm air, got up from under me, picked her skirt from the grimy floor and walked away, he didn't go after her.

"What the _fuck _Phin." He didn't sound as broken as his eyes said he was. Instead hate rose from his tongue. "What the _fuck_?"

But I wouldn't take it, not this time. I'd done enough standing up for Ferb and I was nauseated with it. "Groupie." I answered nonchalantly, knowing full well that this would drive him insane.

"Fucking your ex, fucking my girl. Nice for you to stoop that low mate."

I swallowed a lump of puke, feeling it cling to my esophagus. "At least I don't go cruising every little boy who'll suck my cock just because I'm depressed and in denial about my sexuality."

"Come 'ere" I overheard Baljeet rasp, bringing with him a pack of groupies and reporters and journalists and whoever else.

"Oh how sweet, not only are you jealous of my fame but of my sex life too. Bloody pathetic." Ferb swiped a bottle of Smirnoff vodka off the table next to him and downed a quarter.

"Why the _fuck _would I be jealous of you?" I growled, deciding now would be the right time to light up a cigarette.

"Innit obvious? You want the fame; you want the women, maybe even the _men._"

That struck a chord in me. "Who the FUCK do you think you are?"

Ferb seized my shoulder and pounded a fist into my cheek. "_That's _who I think I am. Maybe now I'll go find Nessa and sleep with her."

"You just _have_ to one up me don't you Ferb? You just _have_ to be better than me." I could feel how flushed my face was, a red that challenged the tone of my hair.

"I don't _actively _try to be better than you…"

"You just are" I scoffed in bitter disbelief; a mocking smile flitted across my lips.

"I didn't say that!" Ferb protested, I burst out in maniac laughter.

"Really? 'I don't try to be better than you Phin, I just am' isn't exactly convincing me you said otherwise." For once I held all the cards, _I _had Ferb stuck in a rut, _I _was going to win.

"You're putting words in my mouth. How dare you fucking do that Phin?" His face twitched between irate and humiliated. "What have I ever done to you?"

"You're joking! What have _you _ever done to _me_? Where do I start? First and foremost…you took it from us. I used to wander why Jeet hates you so much but now I get it. Every little bit of fame _has _to be yours. Every interview, every photo-op." I caught a glimpse of Baljeet beaming in the sidelines.

"I didn't take anything. You know why I get it all? Because none of you could even _dream _of having the stage persona I do. You don't have what I have." His smugness wasn't sincere; I tapped into that right away.

"_You_ don't even think _you_ have what it takes Ferb. I can read it all over your twiggy little face."

His exotically high cheekbones flamed. "You'll _never_ have what I have."

"Good! Because I _never_ want to be a schizophrenic, coke addicted, narcissistic, anorexic, self pitying douche bag like you are!" As soon as I spoke it I regretted doing so, that was the straw that snapped the camel's back. Ferb thrust his chin skywards and tramped away, but not before I saw him begin to silently sob. Of course after seeing him tear up I lost it too, crashing to the floor in a wave of my own wailing. We were each other's poison.

TTTT

_If only Baljeet hadn't have walked in. He's got my body cramped up in the nook of his scrawny stomach, finger combing my hair even though he's repulsed. "Go"_

"_W-what?" Jeet gives me the old are-you-fucking-crazy look and goes back to stroking my matted mane. Dream-Ferb smiles in my cerebrum and I giggle like a school girl. "Phinny?" _

"_You weren't supposed to be here." I sing, waving a crumpled piece of paper under Baljeet's nose. _

"_What is that Phin? Give it here!" And so I do, what's the harm? It's not like he won't notice my plan going into action over the next few hours. Frowning the Indian unfolds the loose-leaf—I spilt rum on it this morning—and I watch his facial expressions change like the seasons. From confusion, to wander, to anger, to pity, to horror. I can recite what I penned on that paper without difficulty considering I've made somewhat of a monologue of it during these past three days, repeating it over and over in my mind; _

_**I took the life of someone who outshone me without effort. Don't blame anybody for what's going to happen to me, it's no one's fault but my pitiful own. This is not a tragedy. Ferb's death was. The earth was shook when they threw this green haired boy up on a pedestal and the earth was equally shook when a parasite of a human being tore him away. Ferb Fletcher will be remembered forever and nobody would have it any other way. Eras from now **__**his**__** name will be the one scrawled on desktops and bathroom stall doors. I never deserved this second chance—something I twisted into a sorry excuse of a life. You know and I know I'm not strong enough to go on…I told Isabella earlier and—I suppose if you're reading this you all know what I did. So you see why I'm doing this. You all probably want to tear me with bare hands. So I'm saving you all the trouble and tearing myself apart instead. So I'm saving you all the trouble and tearing myself apart instead. This begs the question doesn't it? The question you're all so eager to have answered; Why? Why. Because he was better off dead. Despite the fact that he was the only one of us who deserved to grow up we all knew he wouldn't. And I loved him. Oh how I loved him. I can't fucking believe that for years I hid it when all along-maybe not so desperately-but when all along he wanted it too. Ever since he hit sixteen Ferb would muse about how short his life would be-and you know what-I never once doubted him. He wrote his own eulogy and his own funeral arrangements-they're in his purple hoodie-the one you'll find me in. But...I've attached here something I wrote to be read at our funeral-for Ferb-it can't possibly measure up to his poets' musings yet it's here for you all the same;**_

_**We were opposites. Created to compliment each other, to balance. To play off each other's weaknesses and strengths. But in my heart, deep down in my soul, I knew, I always *knew*, that Ferb was much more crucial in life's plan. Ferb, by physical appearance, was the definition of angelic. A face that remained boyish no matter what the age, a countenance that when graced with a smile or a laugh, lit up and always made you feel like everything was going to be okay. Beautiful, lustrous emerald hair. Eyes as jewel encrusted as the sky, as every leaf on every tree, as green as anything I'd ever seen. His gaze was hardened by his past, and in those eyes continuously lurked an infinite sadness. **_

_**When they—the media-spoke of Ferb, it was always with mild distaste. Few of them were friends with the two of us. In spite of this, more likely because of it, he and I had forged a bond that would last us for eternity. Because when I first met him, when I first saw him, I saw something glistening and golden lurking behind that tough-as-nails, cursed-to-silence appearance. While Ferb was by no means diminutive, compared to me...let's just say that in childhood people more often than not assumed I was the wild one. I was a good head taller than him, and while he was grassy-haired and jade-eyed, I was gifted with a mottled fiery mop and blue-jean irises that were painfully plain in comparison to...him. I still remember the night everything changed. Ferb had finished an impressive gig, one that was destined to go down in history books, make him an idol among rock stars. But Ferb cared nothing for fame. Another false impression that others got from him was that he adored his work. That he ate, drank, slept, breathed fame. I was the only one other than God who had ever bothered to get to know Ferb, to really get to know him. And not just because I was his partner or his soul mate. Because of that light I told you about. That inner light that just resonated something that you'd never expect. And I saw that in him, every day, making itself known as that saddened, glassy expression he often wore after a long day at work.**_

_**I saw this in him one night during the 2008 Scottish leg of the tour. Everyone was under the guise of celebrating his success, but he and I both knew, though we never voiced it and I doubt he was aware that I knew it, these drinks were in celebration of the job merely being done, and we were both still alive. If we were lucky, we'd get wasted enough to forget altogether. I ignored it all. Their opinions meant nothing to me. I was as much of a loner as he was, based solely on my association with him. Before my partnership with Ferb, I was popular. But like I said, no one ever really bothered to get to know Ferb. In their celestial eyes, he was Public Enemy Number One, and past that, nothing mattered. Nothing mattered to me when Isabella and Baljeet turned the media rogue on us. I was numb with shock; my only solace was Ferb's eternal presence. We had our fights, but at the same time we had our moments. We were black and white. Yin and yang. We were soul mates. Created for each other, destined to be together forever. In the end, we even died together.**_

_**I never wanted to kill Ferb. Killing Ferb was the same as killing myself. It was extinguishing what was left of me. Ferb was my soul. And in bringing his death, I sealed my fate as someone of unspeakable horrors. I was the rock star equivalent of Cain, was what I was. These past days I've tried but every time I close my eyes again and again his tortured face looms in front of me, wearing an expression of pain and confusion and loss that**__** I**__** carved into him. In my dream, he moans out my name, whispers it well into his death, his voice more tortured than his face.**_

_**I wake in a cold sweat, sometimes crying, sometimes screaming, all times begging for mercy. Not mercy from God but mercy from Ferb. I ache for the forgiveness I don't deserve. I'd do anything just to see him again. I'm so sorry, Ferb. I'd give myself life again, and take it away again, and again and again and again, if only to prove the depths of my sorrow.**_

_**I speak only in regret. **_

_**As the late, great Kurt Cobain once wrote; Peace, Love, Empathy **_

_**Goodbye**_

_**-Phineas Flynn**_

**Disarm you with a smile**

**And leave you like they left me here**

**To wither in denial**

**The bitterness of one who's left alone**

**Ooh, the years burn**

**Ooh, the years burn, burn, burn**

**I used to be a little boy**

**So old in my shoes**

**And what I choose is my voice**

**What's a boy supposed to do?**

**The killer in me is the killer in you**

**My love**

**I send this smile over to you**

**The killer in me is the killer in you**

**Send this smile over to you**

**The killer in me is the killer in you**

**Send this smile over to you**

**The killer in me is the killer in you**

**Send this smile over to you**

"**Love cannot save you from your own fate."-Jim Morrison**


	18. Someday You Will Ache Like I Ache

**Yup, I'm just a writing machine these days man. Guess I've really gotta get a life, sitting in front of the computer while chain smoking and making up angsty fanfiction takes up WAY to much of my time. So I guess this isn't one of my best chapters but it had to be written, and oh my God…I've had the next chapter planned for so long and it's gonna be one of my favorites to write. Next chapter shines a little light back on Phineas. So the song I used here is Doll Parts by Hole—yes Courtney Love's (who I'm not too fond of) band—but the song is fucking good and it's lyrics work perfectly with what Phin feels. Don't forget to R&R you guys are the reason I'm still on here!**

**~~Mick~~!**

**Disclaimer: Phineas & Ferb and Doll Parts by Hole aren't mine. Oh also the quote at the bottom is from the book The Bell Jar by Sylvia Plath which everyone should read. Some fucked up shit right there. Anyways enjoy! **

_**Someday You Will Ache Like I Ache **_

_**I am doll eyes**_

_**Doll mouth, doll legs**_

_**I am doll arms, big veins, dog bait**_

_**Yeah, they really want you, they really want you, they really do**_

_**Yeah, they really want you, they really want you, but I do too**_

_**I want to be the girl with the most cake**_

_**I love him so much it just turns to hate**_

_**I fake it so real, I am beyond fake**_

_**And someday, you will ache like I ache**_

_**Someday, you will ache like I ache**_

_**Someday, you will ache like I ache**_

_**Someday, you will ache like I ache**_

_**Someday, you will ache like I ache**_

**Early November 2008**

"_The fat cats, the top hats, the drag acts_" Ferb sung, strumming Jeet's old acoustic guitar in his very own recording booth.

"Someone shoulda told him a long time ago that we don't play that crap!" Surprisingly the resentment for once came from Buford—and without him being prompted mercilessly by Baljeet too.

"I guess he's just-" I lost my words watching pianists' fingers thin as grass blades pluck at the classical guitars' delicate strings. "I guess he's just trying out something different."

"Yeah, you'd fucking say that" Baljeet sighed, offhandedly playing the opening riff to Van Halen's 'Hot For Teacher'. "We're supposed to be recording for a second album and all our prissy front man can do is sit in there playing love songs for his bitch?"

"Oi" Mason sneered, palming the sound-proof glass surrounding Ferb. "Oi Fletcher, your name is on this contract and you've oughta play me some of what you got famous for!"

"Fuck off Mace" Ferb slurred halfheartedly, continuing his sweet tune. "You need me. You all need me." Wasted, that's what Ferb was. Before picking up the acoustic I'd observed him chug down half a jug of Jack Daniels and a bottle of cough syrup—his newest love. Cough syrup, cocaine and a seemingly newfound interest in Isabella-who sat on the floor as he played. I figured my hooking up with her in England had basically forced Ferb into drawing in what was his territory. Those glossy green eyes didn't look at me quite as they had before and it made me want to kill myself.

"We need you like a dog needs fleas, asshole." Buford chucked the insult and I startled myself by busting out in torrents of laughter alongside Baljeet. Maybe he and I weren't so different after all.

"He's got you there Ferb" I said lightly, half hoping he'd hear and half hoping he'd never have to listen to me join these bullies in singling him out jealously as we so often did. I sighed, because at moments where I found myself staring absentmindedly into Ferb, being Baljeet or Buford seemed almost simple. "No…fuck it" I pinched the bridge of my nose and took down a shot of Southern Comfort. "Have any?" I asked Jeet in a choked whisper, waving my hand back and forth through the air—he knew what I meant. The Indian wordlessly tossed me a baggie of coke which I divided into three particularly even strips along the pick guard of my bass. "F-Ferb?" Knocking on the window made me feel like a bother. "Ferb?"

"What Phin?" He-whose-face-adorned-teenagers-bedroom-walls-the-world-over replied exasperatedly.

"Can I come in?" I saw the hesitation flicker across his gaze palpably but then he gestured for me to enter, so I did. I carried my bass-complete with three lines of cocaine on the glistening and scratched black pick guard-precariously through the tiny room, trying desperately not to trip over any wires as I went. "Hi"

He regarded me quizzically, with eyebrows raised in an almost—dare I say it—friendly expression. "Hi" I wish he could see the way every microscopic jade spoke spinning through his irises reflected my own worn-jeans-blue ones. Incompatible. With Isabella's soft suede brown Ferb's green became mossy and wild. With Baljeet's hazel the two greens harmonized and became one. But with blue. With my profoundly normal, incredibly unspectacular azure his green became a vast expanse of nameless waters, an ocean, forever. "What did you want then?"

Five minutes. I must've been standing there dumbstruck for five minutes watching him. "Fuck-uh, nothing." So I quietly seated myself on the floor to Ferb's right, steering away from Izzy on the left. Izzy with her big coppery optics and false eyelashes and obsidian curls and porcelain complexion. Izzy with her false everything; from her padded bras to her glowing teeth. I pushed back my shoulders, trying to hold up what? Some fake composure? Sure yeah, I placed my bass across my knees and snorted the sweet, sweet blow. My body shook and I grinned "You want any Ferb?" One line was left, when he softly denied the drug—which caught me off guard—I eagerly had it myself.

"_Cause a late night frenzy, there's no time, to whinge or whine._" He just kept on singing for Isabella—because I fucking _knew _it was for her—as if I weren't there at all. That gentle cacophony of chords tore at my eardrums; they begged to hear Ferb slam his hand down the worn strings of his Telecaster with screaming loudness and pounding distortion. None of this beautiful love music. Not if it wasn't for me.

**December 2008**

"_What_?" The single word flew from the back of my throat and came out a cloud of disbelieving vomit. "_What_? You're kidding Jeet, really."

"No I'm fucking not Phin." Baljeet answered, taking another puff off the blunt we were passing back and forth between takes for our first music video. Purple Haze marijuana mixed with lacy cocaine crystals. "He told me last night man. They're official."

"No they're not." I refused to come to terms with it, I mean come on. There was no chance in hell Ferb would actually _agree _to getting into a _real_ relationship. Least of all with someone as bitchy and demanding as Isabella Shapiro—she'd dropped the Garcia part of her last name a few months back, finding it too long for a rock journalist. "Come on Jeet, look at him, he's over there chatting up the cameraman. Ferb _wouldn't _get into anything serious with Izzy, trust me I know."

Baljeet simply rolled his saucer cup eyes in response and tossed me the joint. "Shows how little you really know him." It was comments like that that never ceased to hit me like a ton of bricks. Comments that reminded me again and again of how much Ferb had changed, of the fucking incredible person he'd become. And of the farce of a human being I'd turned out to be.

"Are we ready to continue recording?" For the first time in weeks Paul Sedgwick showed up to supervise our progress not only on the video—for the new 'masterpiece' as Paul referred to it 'D-Rive'—but also on what we'd done for our second album. "'Screaming at a Concrete Moon' went platinum last week and I expect this to be even better!"

"Wait, wait" Ferb called drunkenly, stepping warily towards Paul. "There's something I'd like to announce."

Baljeet stared at me pointedly "Watch this." And there was a sinking feeling in my throat and my stomach and everywhere else.

"I'd just like to say" He raised a toothpick wrist high above his shocking green mullet. "I'd like to say" Hiccup "That my woman and I are finally official! Come on out Izzy" As if on cue she twined her way through cameramen, amps, wires and miscellaneous other objects. "I love you" The raven haired girl looked smitten, she leaned up and the two broke into a passionate kiss.

Suddenly the world started spinning too fast on its wobbling axis. "W-what?" Since when did Ferb proclaim his love publicly? Since when did Ferb say 'I love you' meaningfully in the first place?

"You heard." Isabella quipped; her chocolate orbs looked through me. She _knew_. Right then and there I saw it; I saw the knowing in her eyes. She _knew_ every time she pulled him closer it tore me a little bit more. "Ferb has finally made me his girlfriend." She giggled in her overbearingly saccharine way, I sneered.

"Why?" I cried—trying _so _fucking hard not to let my ridiculous emotions out. "Why now?" But Ferb didn't answer. He swayed where he stood and his eyelids began jittering and twitching, the silvery crescents hopping up and down. "Ferb?" Alarm, simply out of instinct I seized his waist as he collapsed. "Shit, Ferb?" His underweight body felt limp in my arms. "Ferb?"

"Oh my God." Isabella cupped a dainty hand over her—today—magenta toned lips. "Oh my God."

"What's everyone standing around for, somebody call an ambulance!" My voice came out tortured with worry, I propped Ferb's lifeless being against me chest, his head lolled in an unsettling rag-doll fashion. Having him in that vulnerable state made me fall in love all over again, that slow despairing love that no amount of time would put a stop to. Isabella ran off and a moment later she was talking rapidly into her ruby red flip phone.

TTTT

The paramedics wouldn't let me into the ambulance. I kicked, I screamed, I dug my fingers into my cherry hair. They poked needles into his puny veins and jabbed plastic tubes into the holes. Plastic tubes that led to an array of machines pumping blue and clear liquids through Ferb Fletcher's broken self and then nothing at all. Because they let Isabella in where she promptly latched her hand about Ferb's clammy one, the sight of her disgusted expression upon touching him ticked away at my nerve endings.

"LET ME IN!" Ambulance doors slammed before my horror struck eyes. "Let-"

"Let them go Phin" Jeet me a pitying smile that ground my bones to dust. "I don't just mean let the ambulance go" I'd had a feeling he didn't. "I mean leave Ferb to Isabella. He's going to choose her, there's no competition."

And though every word crushed me to bits I simply scoffed "I don't know what you're talking about."

"I'm fucking talking about Ferb! You might as well admit it, everybody knows."

"Knows what?" I yelled, slightly pissed off and craving the release of a cigarette.

"That you're head over heels for the guy. Come on Phin even _Buford _notices it, not only does he have no gaydar what so ever but he's thick as a fucking board! Just stay away, he loves Isabella. It's just unnecessary for you to waste your time on a guy who'll never love you back. " The certainty in Baljeet's words of wisdom caused my belly to rumble.

"I'm not a fucking fag." Of course being Phineas Flynn I followed up with a sentence making my first statement sound like a load of shit; "I wanna go to the hospital. I wanna know if he's alright."

"I know you do Phinny" Jeet groaned "I know. But what I've never understood is why Ferb? He's annoying, tiresome, pushy, moody, and completely fucking psychotic. You're the all American, apple pie eating, stars and stripes wearing dream boy…so why him?"

"Because…because" Where had all my pretty nouns and verbs gone now? "Because—because he's Ferb."

TTTT

Her eyes being the first his emeralds locked with was what sealed the deal. Just as Nancy Spungen had been the first by Sid's side when he went into hospital Isabella made sure to be the first by Ferb's. By the time Baljeet, Buford, Mason and I arrived the evening after, he'd woken up.

I burst into Room 10A only to find Izzy crouched over Ferb, stroking his matted mullet and whispering sweet nothings in his pierced ears. "Hey Phin"

"Hey Is" I mumbled. "Hey—hey Ferb." He collapsed in _my _arms; _I _held his helpless body up throughout this inevitable second OD, his inevitable second viewing of heaven or hell. It was _me _whose world shattered with every tremor of ivory skin; it was _me _who had to watch him gently suck on Isabella's bottom lip. It was _me _who couldn't watch it anymore. It was _me _who ran out of the hospital room panting and dying for a whiff of blow.

It was Jeet who provided me with a few lines before I bolted out of the hospital. It was Jeet who followed me to make sure I was stable. And it was Baljeet Patel who closed his red-gold arms around me when I broke down and finally told someone the pathetic truth that had been festering in my heart and lungs and intestines since day one.

Baljeet didn't laugh, he didn't cry. He just finger combed my mane as I educated him on a love that even in the beginning was preordained to become a heart breaking Greek tragedy.

TTTT

And Ferb could never come to understand what I felt for him. Not in a million years, not in a trillion dusty eras. As I'd predicted he and Isabella became joined at the hip, some twisted Siamese twin. Someday, I seethed, someday he would ache. Someday _I _would be the one to snap his heart strings in half one by one. Making sure to lick each bone clean before I crushed them beneath the toe of my high tops. Someday he would ache like I ached.

_**I am doll parts**_

_**Bad skin, doll heart**_

_**It stands for knife**_

_**For the rest of my life**_

_**Yeah, they really want you, they really want you, they really do**_

_**Yeah, they really want you, they really want you, but I do, too**_

_**I want to be the girl with the most cake**_

_**He only loves those things because he loves to see them break**_

_**I fake it so real, I am beyond fake**_

_**And someday, you will ache like I ache**_

_**Someday you will ache like I ache**_

_**Someday, you will ache like I ache**_

_**Someday, you will ache like I ache**_

_**Someday, you will ache like I ache**_

_**Someday, you will ache like I ache**_

_**Someday, you will ache like I ache**_

_**Someday, you will ache like I ache**_

**"There is something demoralizing about watching two people get more and more crazy about each other, especially when you are the only extra person in the room."-Sylvia Plath**


	19. Sink or Swim

**Yes, I'm finally done one of the chapters I've wanted so badly to write since I got my ground plan figured out. I really do hope I did the content justice. Anyways the song used is one from the epic 'Brothers of the Head' which yes, you should most definitely watch or at least download the sound track to. I mean you don't have to but I think I'd be much more into a story if I could actually listen to the supposed music the band writes and performs. God I adored what I made Phineas in these paragraphs, shows how selfish he can be. Please R&R it means so much to me!**

**~~Peace, Love, Flowers, Puppies, Nirvana~~**

**~~Mick~~!**

**Disclaimer: Phineas and Ferb and Sink or Swim by The Bang Bang are not mine sadly. **

_**Sink or Swim**_

**January 2009**

A year of revolution, that's what I summed 2009 up to be when its' first month hit. There needed to be change, I was sick and disgusted with hopelessly falling all over Ferb, doing anything just to kiss his feet. No, I scolded myself, drawing the blade once more to the inside of my thigh, _no_. I'd decided to cut myself; it became a training method really. Anytime I'd think of him—which was all too frequently—I'd take out my little razor blade and slice open skin. It worked, honest to God it did.

"I can't help it" And there was Ferb, sobbing on Isabella's lap. Ferb. At the start of our fame he'd worn blue jeans and rundown dress shirts. Now he wore fancy veils and jewelry and make-up and cloaks—studying the art of Brian Jones and Jimi Hendrix and how they were always ahead of the times with their clothing. I watched from a distance. Since his _second _OD—this time it'd been on coke and booze (he'd gotten his stomach pumped)—Ferb had been balling his eyes out every hour or so it seemed. "I'm scared" He panted "I'm scared because I need more"

"Ferb" I growled—hostility, that's what I felt towards him. "FERB! Show Nessa the new song, she needs _something _for her interview"

Vanessa blushed, brushing a piece of her soily brown bangs from her eyes. "You don't have to Phin-" I shut her up with a pissed off hand gesture.

It only took that. Ferb stood up shakily and walked over—head flung up and eyes glittering maliciously. "See I haven't really finished that one, we'll play you something else I've been working on though if you want. It's too new, Sink or Swim."

I rolled my eyes, he _had _worked it out. Not playing for the German beauty was just to give him the satisfaction of being difficult. "Do the first verse of it."

"I haven't properly worked it out though." He moaned, shoving his lower lip out.

"Play it." I demanded lightly.

Ferb picked up his unplugged Fender Tele and fluently strummed out the opening riff. "Well I've worked it out but it's just, when a songs' in the middle of being written I don't like playing it."

"Okay" Vanessa finally spoke, her cheeks still flaming.

"Alright, alright, alright" Ferb pouted "I'll do it"

Even as he began plucking the strings I scoffed; "Play it"

"_Sink or swim, make your mind up, before you let the, fat cats win_" Ferb sang softly, Isabella came to join Vanessa and turned on her tiny tape recorder. "_Wipe your chin, ain't no one looking after you, now, now, now, give nothing away but give it, loud, loud, loud, there's a stench of the suits and dirt on the doors_" I felt a jaded lizard crawl up my spine, why was it that Ferb Fletcher had been gifted with everything? He _was _The Highlighters, when he said we needed him he was absolutely fucking right. He could sing like no other, mastered the guitar, penned out the most beautiful poetry and drew twirling psychedelics and smoky pencil sketches. An intellectual who excelled both in the arts and the sciences. A blazing stage presence who didn't even have to _try_. "_The fat cats, in top hats, the fat cats, the top hats, the drag acts, cause a late night frenzy_" He stopped playing then, not because the song ended but because Ferb was a stubborn sack of shit and if he agreed only to playing the first verse that's just what he'd do.

TTTT

January 21st 2009 at three o'clock in the morning. That's exactly when _the_ idea began to form in my depression and drug addled cerebrum. Ferb lied on Buford's couch in a fetal position with Izzy all wrapped about him, Buford himself was up playing Call of Duty and Baljeet and Vanessa were having sex in the shower. That left me alone in Buford's bedroom with nothing but Ferb's notepad and Jeet's old acoustic. As the cogs of my brain spun into overdrive I ran my fingers across those guitar strings, desperately attempting to remember 'Sink or Swim's' haunting chords.

TTTT

**Everything Changes**

Lights. Camera. Action. We'd never been in front of a crowd so humongous. "Dude!" Baljeet gasped, pressing his fingers into my shoulder blade. "Dude, look how many people are out there…it's fucking amazing."

Somehow I couldn't share Jeet's enthusiasm. "Yeah…hard to believe they've come to see us."

"You're such a downer man." He spat, sending me a sudden sneer. "Fuck Ferb."

"What?" I sighed, so…damn…exhausted.

"It's Ferb, you're always so down because that asshole doesn't _want _to see it." How was it that Baljeet Patel became psychic?

"Doesn't want to see what." Of course it wasn't a question; both the Indian and I knew exactly _what_.

"Stop it Phin. I can't take any more of your shit. It can never be simple with Ferb so it can never be simple with you. You know what? I don't know what I _ever _saw in Ferb, even back when we used to screw around in Mason's Shelby something wasn't right. And you—you've been in love with him since what? Sixteen?—you've gotta get over it. And until you do, don't fucking talk to me." With that Jeet swiped up his cherry sunburst Les Paul, fixed the blue bandanna ringing his mess of black-brown hair and stomped away.

"Ignore 'im" Buford, the only stable member The Highlighters ever had. "He's going through some stuff."

"What kind of stuff could Baljeet possibly be going through?" I snorted, casting my gaze up to meet Buford's icy stare.

He gave me this intense, meaningful look that made no sense. "You'd be surprised Phin, you're not the only person in the world with problems."

"What's with everyone today? Get off my fucking back!" Rage boiled up to my ashen cheeks, Ferb walking past holding Isabella's hand as if it were a box marked 'Fragile' almost made me erupt right there and then. I'd do it tonight, I didn't know what—but something needed to be altered.

"**Now from Danville…The Highlighters!**" Sweaty hands mashed together down in the audience like thunder claps on the desolate Nevadan playa. The smooth raven-feather purple curtains split open and out we went. First was Buford with his ever present cigar, wearing camouflage cargo shorts, combat boots and a worn 'Children of Bodom' t-shirt with the sleeves chopped off. Then Baljeet, blowing kisses as he strutted his lanky body lazily across stage left. I stalked over to stage right with my shoulders slumped, my hair in my eyes and my wrists securely covered in an ugly brown leather coat. We all received warm applause louder than any bomb going off.

Ferb. His already lustrous lashes coated in thick mascara, ruby lipstick, green mullet covered by an enormous white sun hat. He walked out as if he were the most average looking person in the universe; indiscreetly smoking a cigarette, holding his Telecaster loosely and padding barefoot towards the microphone. "'With a great poet" He purred, that sultry British accent being broadcasted over CD, video and photograph. "the sense of Beauty overcomes every other consideration, or rather" And here he paused to stare through the crowd with his jade eyes aflame. "obliterates all consideration.' Ladies and gentlemen, John Keats was a genius." The applause Ferb got wasn't warm—it was boiling, and about a trillion decibels louder than what the rest of the band got.

Without saying anything more he launched into Two-Way Romeo—expecting us to all fall in, and we did…we _always_ did. After playing for a half hour—D-Rive, Buford's Blood, Sitting in a Car, I Am a Sock and many others including renditions of Hendrix, Stones and Nirvana songs—there was a brief intermission. "Somebody almost took my eye out throwing a guitar pick" Buford grumbled, jabbing away at his eye and glaring at Baljeet and Ferb. "Which of you was it?"

Rather than reply like a rational human being Ferb shoved my chest violently, growling; "Move" And off he went into his prissy private dressing room to take some Speed and snort a line or two of Cocaine.

I guess my face must truly have had the most broken expression in the world on because Baljeet picked up my hand gently "Come on Phinny." I smiled at him weakly, followed him into the bathroom and we took a few hits of Speed ourselves.

TTTT

Back on stage with vengeance. Well Ferb at least, the way he so slowly and levelly raised his gaze to stare down the audience was unsettling. "What the fuck are you looking at?" He stammered into the mic, I saw crowd members starting to squirm beneath vicious irises.

"GET ON WITH THE SHOW!" Some unshaven punter tossed an empty beer bottle onto the stage—it clocked Ferb in the ribcage. He said nothing. Said nothing, picked up the bottle and whipped it into the audience. I could hear it shatter.

"Go fuck yourself you fucking cunt!" As poetic as Ferb was he had a filthy vocabulary.

"Calm the fuck down!" I chided, tuning my bass lower.

"YOU CALM THE FUCK DOWN." Ferb screamed "Fuck all of you."

That was it. Not nearly done our set yet and off he stormed, bells and scarves billowing out behind his skinny frame like flags. An awkward silence suddenly prevailed; even the crowd had fallen into its' quietness. We stood there; Buford's drum sticks poised precariously between his beefy fingers, Baljeet with rosy mouth agape. Ferb was gone, would we carry on? Or would we do what a band who wasn't a band without out their singer and stop right there? No. No. No. NO. I'd had _enough_.

"Fuck it" I murmured. I lifted my bass and smashed it into the glossy wooden floor. Everyone, fucking _everyone _in that stadium thought I was going to go after Ferb. Normally I would have too. But not now. Instead I threw my chin into the smoky air and picked up Ferb's discarded Tele.

"What are you _doing_?" Baljeet rasped, he sounded appalled and aroused all at once.

Ferb's soft leather guitar strap—still emanating the warmth of his body—felt orgasmic, laid over my shoulders. I stroked the lacquered cream white and the pearly brown pickguard. Everything was better standing in front of the microphone holding his beautiful Fender. I basked in flaming glory meant for somebody else entirely. "We're gonna do a little something" God, who knew my voice was so boyish and small? "Called 'Sink or Swim'" I turned three tuning pegs, put a nasty grin on my lips and then grated my fingers across sharp strings. I'd perfected the opening riff and on electric guitar- through that crackly Marshall amp—the song took on a harsher wilder heir. After the first riff—when the initial shock had been shaken off—Baljeet and Buford joined my butchering of Ferb's music. I didn't give a shit, in those insane moments I let him go; him and his incredible eyes, him and his sloppy ribcage.

"_**Sink or swim**_

_**Make your mind up**_

_**Before you let the**_

_**Fat cats win" **_

I snarled—more viciously than Ferb mother fucking Fletcher ever had.

"_**Wipe your chin, ain't no one looking after you**_

_**Now, now, now**_

_**Give nothing away but give it**_

_**Loud, loud, loud**_

_**There's a stench of the suits and dirt on the doors" **_

I never, **never **wanted it to end. I finally got why Ferb so shamelessly accepted all the fame thrown upon him. Because the audience would always cheer loudest for the front man, they'd always feel compassion for somebody so broken but so undeniably charismatic and artistic and filled to the brim with angst. That was me now. **I **was The Highlighters. Without warning Baljeet leaned into me, the head of his Les Paul brushed up against the waistband of my jeans.

"_**The fat cats**_

_**In top hats**_

_**The fat cats**_

_**The top hats**_

_**The drag acts**_

_**Cause a late night frenzy**_"

He was back. My entire being burst out in the way I brazenly sang. And man I couldn't fathom it, _he was back_. The old me. Not Phin the ticking time bomb, but Phineas Flynn that orange haired boy next door with the impish smile and fearlessly optimistic personality.

"_**There's no time to whinge or whine**_

_**So fall in line**_

_**You really fucking want this**_

_**The push and pull**_

_**The freaks and ghouls**_

_**Fuck the big buck boys**_

_**Break their toys**_"

They were going mental in the stands, just a clobber of faceless blips on the radar. Jeet yelled the chorus right with me as if he'd expected this all along.

"_**The fat cats**_

_**In top hats**_

_**The fat cats**_

_**The top hats**_

_**The drag acts**_

_**Cause a late night frenzy**_"

Those cries were for Phineas Flynn. No 'We want Ferb' it was a battalion of 'PHIN. PHIN. PHIN. PHIN!' And I realized that this is what I'd been looking for. It was _my _idea to form a band in the first place. What right did Ferb have to stealing my publicity? _He never asked for it Phin _my brain tried reasoning with me _He got the fame because he's the one they all want. Him Phinny, not you. _I refused to believe what reality told me was true, I let my imagination run boundlessly and for the first time in ages I could see myself on the cover of The Rolling Stone with Ferb flanking my left and Jeet and Buford on my right. _Me_ being the focal point of every Highlighters' photograph, article, interview.

"_**Sink or swim**_

_**Make your mind up**_

_**Before you let the**_

_**Fat cats win**_

_**The fat cats**_

_**In top hats**_

_**The fat cats**_

_**The top hats**_

_**The drag acts**_

_**Cause a late night frenzy**_"

Ferb's once lovely acoustic piece had to come to a finish some time. With bitterness tainting my every word I spat out the final line;

"_**With a dancing monkey**_"

After charging through the remaining few hours of the set using me as front man I found myself backstage smoking a joint. Our eyes locked from miles away. I'd never want fame as much as I'd want what those jewel irises whispered.

TTTT

**"As long as my face is on page one, I don't care what they say about me on page seventeen."- Mick Jagger**


	20. We're all Bold as Love Just Ask the Axis

**Ouu a remotely quick update! Applause is called for, oh but not really. A Fanfiction Author (Better known as those without lives) deserves no applaud for their slightly sad obsession with characters that aren't their own. Anyways yes this chapter is filled to the brim with slash and though it's not that graphic—if you don't like sex scenes skin over a few parts. Also if any of you guys wants more detail in the next sex scene feel free to tell me I'm just trying to keep some sort of comfort level. The next chapter is very important to the rest of the story so I suggest you wait for it too! Again my reviewers make my day whenever I see something in my Inbox. Keep reviewing please, without you I would cease to continue. I love yous.**

**~~Peace, Love, Puppies, Sparkles, Nirvana~~**

**~~Mick~~!**

**Disclaimer: Phineas and Ferb are not my property nor is Bold As Love by The Jimi Hendrix Experience. **

_**Anger, he smiles,**_

_**Towering in shiny metallic purple armor**_

_**Queen Jealousy, envy waits behind him**_

_**Her fiery green gown sneers at the grassy ground**_

_**Blue are the life-giving waters taken for granted,**_

_**They quietly understand**_

_**Once happy turquoise armies lay opposite ready,**_

_**But wonder why the fight is on**_

_**But they're all bold as love, yeah; they're all bold as love**_

_**Yeah, they're all bold as love**_

_**Just ask the axis**_

_**We're All Bold as Love; Just Ask the Axis**_

**February 2009**

After our January show Ferb stopped talking. He just stopped. Only speaking up to utter the sentence a day like he did when he was a kid. Honestly I couldn't have possibly been more lost; I'd expected a fire storm, a hail of sulfur bullets…but no. Instead Ferb just sat there, taking more drugs than before and staring desolately at the wall. He talked to Isabella of course; his oath of silence to everybody else strengthened their chain link bond. And so I became the leader. My stamina flew back into my gullet, I spat upon those who held their tongues. I was the self-confident, hypocritical brat I'd been in childhood. At every show after The Highlighters early 2009 performance Ferb denied to show up. So I sang; I let Jeet play lead guitar in the more difficult numbers while I stuck to bass. It was a welcome change—there were always the 'Where's Ferb?'s' but no audience seemed to mind his absence too much. Finally my dream had been realized. Though I always knew it wouldn't last.

TTTT

"Rock N' Roll isn't about books!" I snorted—acting so pompously, as if I knew the first thing about Rock N' Roll. "It's about letting go and having fun! Rock N' Roll is a way for you to tell the world how you feel."

"Feel about what?" Baljeet and I sat cross-legged on the balcony, smoking cigarettes and on the last leg of an MDMA trip. So, sober for the most part.

"…Expressing yourself" The words flowed out of me and for once I wasn't blushing awkwardly due to my lack of language skills. "I mean, what do you do when you're angry?"

Baljeet frowned "Math" Yes, even though he was a heavy amphetamine user, drank like an Irishman and indulged deeply in the forbidden Baljeet Patel was a mathematical genius.

"Okay. How about sad?" I opted.

"Math" He answered, dumbfounded.

"Happy?"

"Math"

"So every feeling you fucking have makes you want to do math?" That stumped me. I got Ferb's love for literature and the arts and even Buford's for sports and videogames but…math? I'd never understand having a passion for that.

"I don't know if it's so much cause and effect; I do a lot of math. The feelings come and go." Baljeet shook his head. "Why're you talking to me about this Phineas?"

I smiled doggishly "Cos I'm bored" He didn't reply. I gazed off the balcony—through white iron posts—trying desperately not to let my thoughts drift to the color green. They did. Naturally.

"I'll never forgive Ferb for what he's made you." The sound of Jeet's voice slicing the crisp air sent shivers up my spine. "I'll never forgive him"

"Neither will I" I breathed, he picked up on my words despite their low key. Somehow me and Baljeet had become as inseparable as Ferb and Isabella. I suppose it was our common hate for the voice of a generation, our petty jealousy and infinite selfishness. We both wanted nothing more than to alienate Ferb from the band, for him to taste the pain we were made of. Baljeet never did forgive Ferb; it poisoned him, it disintegrated his once likeable bad-boy persona and built him into a bitter character.

"Let's go inside" We stood up, swaying a little and holding onto each other as we walked through hallway after hallway until we inevitably reached Buford's bedroom. I flopped onto the lumpy bedspread laughing all the way. Even though it wasn't real the false happiness Jeet flooded me with caused my stomach to leap. "Mmm" The lithe Indian threw himself next to me on the mattress with a satisfied groan.

"This is nice" I mouthed, staring blankly into the ceiling fan and then at the crusty yellowish ceiling itself. And for a moment it was so fucking silent I could hear cars going by on the highway outside the apartment complex. I tried distracting myself but certain thoughts plagued my mind relentlessly. Finally I'd had enough "H-hey Jeet?"

"Yeah Phin?" He propped himself up on a pointy cinnamon elbow.

"You know when you messed around with Ferb…"

Baljeet's eyebrows bent down, peeking out from beneath his sweeping black fringe. "Yeah…" It was apparent he had no clue where such conversation could take us—and truthfully I didn't know either.

"How far did you guys actually go?" It was as if I were fifteen and a virgin again, pestering Buford to tell me in great detail how it felt to fuck a girl.

Baljeet's formerly confused expression gave way to a shit eating smirk. "Why do you wanna know?"

At this my complexion burst into flames. "It's because…I don't know, I'm fucking curious alright."

"You really wanna know?" Baljeet chuckled, chewing a ragged obsidian fingernail, I nodded in response. "Alright. Well yeah you saw us kiss a lot but we did more while you and Buford weren't around" I'd expected such an answer but it still sent a pang of longing and envy through my person. "I mean I never fucked him but we'd suck each other off sure."

"What was it like?" I rasped, leveling my eyes with Jeet's. Why? Because suddenly it was overwhelming, because I wanted all of my problems to dissipate and in the hazel irises of this boy they would. Because all too quickly I wished that my life were normal. I was twenty five and what? Dirty, drug addicted, alcoholic, depressed, obsessed. An animalistic need that had never infected my innards before filled me. I saw little Baljeet Patel in a different light. His saucer cup eyes caked with dark circles and smoky eyeliner, ruby lips open, skin so rich and warm. He was lovely and the room was much too hot for those leather pants and that Judas Priest hoodie he wore. "What was it like Jeet."

The last thing I ever thought I'd be doing on a shale grey February morning in Los Angeles was this. Yet lo and behold here I was. There was no electrical spark when he kissed me but it was something. Something I narcissistically wouldn't let go. He tasted like disaster. Baljeet's lips were chapped and steamy; I could feel the blood pulsing through the full pieces of flesh as they moved against my own pallid mouth. I pulled away nervously, unable to look him in the face any longer. "Look at me Phin" Baljeet whispered, he forced my chin up with his bony fingers. "Do you want this?"

No. Ferb. "Yes" I muttered seductively "More than anything else in the world." This time it was I who leaned forward and planted my lips against his. I mean it wasn't like Baljeet was unattractive, actually to the bystander he would probably be the prettiest of us all. Buford was too big, Ferb was gawky to the point of underweight and I was incredibly boring, but Jeet was just the right amount of skinny paired with exotic East Indian finery.

The kisses grew more passionate, he tugged my lower lip and ground fists into my t-shirt. Then our shirts came off entirely. Jeet radiated heat, his skin—soaked in a slight sweat sheen—was a gorgeous gold to my own bland peachy tone. He exhaled slowly against my shoulder blade and traced a fingernail down my throat. "Phin" He breathed, butterfly kissing my neck like I remembered Ferb doing to me so many times as if it were nothing. "I want you" Instead of replying I stayed stark still and closed my eyes, through papery lids I saw veins that were red against an orange backdrop. Baljeet was giving me blazing cerise hickies; over the Adam's apple, over the collarbone, over the breastbone, over the stomach…tongue dipped into my navel. By now I'd stopped trying to be motionless and began writhing in pleasure, real pleasure—it wasn't faked—the bulge in my jeans proved that. The feeling of somebody's mouth gyrating along your pelvic bone is unforgettable; it clogged my vision with flashes of ivory light. He unbuttoned my jeans and pulled the zipper down. A too-loud moan rose from my lips. Off with my jeans…there went my boxers, my clothing were strewn everywhere. Poor Buford, wouldn't he come home to a mess. I inhaled the comforting scent of second hand smoke and some sort of boxed monstrosity—cheap macaroni and cheese I guessed—being cooked miles away. I thought all of this as Jeet—yes Baljeet fucking Patel, not Vanessa, not Isabella, not a nameless female groupie—wrapped his tongue around my dick and started sucking.

_But what about Ferb? __**Forget about Ferb! **__How? __**You know…you're right. **_I shut the voices out of my head and tried desperately to focus on the sensation Baljeet was setting off below. I didn't understand how he could deep-throat so easily—how many blowjobs had the boy given?—but I wasn't complaining. "Jeet" I squealed in a rather demeaning manner. "Mmm" My brain wouldn't allow me such simple pleasures; it kept repeating how filthy this was and how Jeet was just sucking me off…it wasn't _really _gay. Left hand shot down and I smothered my fingers in the Indian's coal black hair; it was crusty with hairspray. I held his head down and he took it like a porn star; watching me intensely with those brown-green eyes to top it all off. If his irises lost the muddy color and gained a ton of iridescence well they'd look like—"Ahh" I shot my load down his ruddy throat and he swallowed every bit with a wild grin.

"That's what it was like Phin" He sat up—hair disheveled and with a drop of my cum trickling down his lip; I instinctively licked the gooey white from his mouth. It tasted like thickened and salty chlorine.

"Can I fuck you?" I slapped a hand across my face as soon as I realized what I'd said. Sure getting head from a guy was forgivable but sticking your cock in one? Most certainly not. I never took the proposition back however. We looked at each other for a long time. Wordlessly understanding that even though there were trillions of people marring the face of the universe the two of us just happened to have been thrown together. And that meant something. He nodded silently and I knew what it meant.

TTTT

"How was you guys' day?" Buford yawned that same winter evening as he pressed the few remaining marijuana buds we had left into his pipe.

My t-shirt was in the washing machine so I'd filtered through Ferb's dirty laundry and stole a knit burgundy sweater his grandmother on the Fletcher side had given him in adolescence; it was a fucking hideous sweater but it smelt of Ferb, of his sweat and his flesh. "Good" I croaked.

"How about you Jeet?" Our drummer deadpanned, he threw back his inky blue hair in apparent boredom.

Baljeet's gaze flickered to mine and then ruby lips broke out in a foxy teeth-bearing smile. "Fucking good."

Buford Von Stomm had never been the sharpest tool in the shed per say. He couldn't put two and two together so Ferb—glaring stoically from Jeet to I the entire time—added our matching blushes for him. "I think it's pretty fucking obvious what they've done." He snapped irritably, I was surprised he spoke at all actually.

"What is it then?" Buford arched a thick brow.

For some reason it all sent Ferb over the edge—everything did though. "ARE YOU BLOODY STUPID? THEY FUCKED. I DON'T EVEN HAVE TO FUCKING ASK BECAUSE THEIR EXPRESSIONS SAY IT ALL!" He didn't pause even once to lower his screams or slow his pace. "DO YOU ASSHOLES HAVE ANY IDEA HOW THIS'LL MAKE THE BA-"

"SHUT THE FUCK UP FERB!" Baljeet strutted over and the two guitarists stood chest to chest. The sight was a laugh—Ferb being a head or more taller and looking as if he were about to bust a nut. But again there was no stop. Instead of having some epic face off, as soon as the words left Jeet's mouth Ferb socked him a good one.

"Leave him alone!" I catcalled, now I too got up. My statement lacked sincerity, I cared about Jeet yeah. More than anything though I wanted to pick Ferb's brain and see what the billion cogs of his mind were coming up with.

"Stop defending him." Ferb sighed evenly "You've done enough damage as it is." He drew four long, sharp fingernails across my collar bone as he shoved me into the couch and then bolted. Inevitably. Baljeet dusted his shirt off from his seat on the floor, Buford shrugged and continued puffing from his pipe and I opened and closed my mouth like a fish out of water.

"…What?"

**Late February 2009**

"I love you Phin" And I could've beat myself to a mushy pulp for ever agreeing to get into a real relationship with Baljeet Patel.

"I" Maybe if he grew his hair our and dyed it green and bleached his pretty cinnamon skin. Maybe if he never had any appetite and dwarfed us all in height. Maybe if he extracted the brown from his eyes or took to ODing. Maybe if his cheeks weren't so round and warm, maybe if they were hollow and translucent. Maybe if Baljeet weren't Baljeet at all and was instead the melodramatic, manic-depressive front man the whole world wanted in their pants. "I love you too Jeet"

I had to lie. Because I knew better than anybody that we don't choose who we fall in love with.

_**My red is so confident that he flashes trophies of war,**_

_**And ribbons of euphoria**_

_**Orange is young, full of daring,**_

_**But very unsteady for the first go round**_

_**My yellow in this case is not so mellow**_

_**In fact I'm trying to say it's frightened like me**_

_**And all these emotions of mine keep holding me from, eh,**_

_**Giving my life to a rainbow like you**_

_**But, I'm eh, yeah, I'm bold as love**_

_**Yeah, yeah**_

_**Well I'm bold, bold as love (hear me talking, girl)**_

_**I'm bold as love**_

_**Just ask the axis (he knows everything)**_

_**Yeah,**_

_**Yeah,**_

_**Yeah!**_

**"Your kiss is bitter with cocaine." — Aleister Crowley**


	21. Shine On You Crazy Diamond

**Oh my lovelies, I know this review didn't come as fast—or maybe it did and I'm just insane—and for that I apologize. Alright so I know this chapter isn't the most interesting but one single part of it is key to the rest of the story—it's Ferb's first time doing heroin. Of course in the sequel to HC—Free Bird—which is in Ferb's point of view you'll get a more in depth look at what he's thinking, but yes, tis important! Next chapter will be much more eventful I promise! And man Shine On You Crazy Diamond, the lyrics to that song just describe Ferb with ridiculous perfection. Anyways please review, you know it's what keeps me going!**

**~~Mick~~!**

**Disclaimer: Depressingly enough P&F and Shine On You Crazy Diamond by Pink Floyd aren't mine! **

_**Remember when you were young, you shone like the sun.**_

_**Shine on you crazy diamond.**_

_**Now there's a look in your eyes, like black holes in the sky.**_

_**Shine on you crazy diamond.**_

_**You were caught on the crossfire of childhood and stardom, **_

_**Blown on the steel breeze.**_

_**Come on you target for faraway laughter, **_

_**Come on you stranger, you legend, you martyr, and shine!**_

**March 2009**

By the looks of it the drug seemed no better than amphetamine. It came in a pencil-eraser sized tar black glob that reminded me of mouse shit. "_This _is what all the fucking fuss was about?" Ferb scoffed, twitching his upper lip into a grotesque sneer. "I keep telling myself not to listen to you anymore Jeet but lo and behold I do every time…"

"Oh fuck off" Baljeet rolled hazed eyes back. "Trust me you'll like it."

Ferb stared at the tiny, moldy, reveled-for-it's-power drug with a most curious expression. "It's only that…I thought it would be beautiful." Stranger and stranger I tell you, along with his innumerable pieces of costume jewelry he'd added a nineteenth century class. Even as we sat congregated around Buford's apartments' stained coffee table he was decked out in full dress. A pinstriped and tailed black suit jacket, dusty blue jeans, fancy leather boots that laced up ever so delicately, a thick pearl choker and to toss the cherry on top he'd taken to wearing Fedora's. "I thought it would be more beautiful…"

"Oi" Mason was—unfortunately—staying with us as a permanent fixture. Paul Sedgwick—the producer and salesman virtuoso we were starting to see less and less of—had ruled that our manager should watch over the progress of our second album. "Is it jus' me or is 'e skinnier every time I see 'im?"

Ferb's eyes smoldered from under the brim of his grey tweed chapeau. "If you're not skinny you're not beautiful."

"Anorexia and insanity aren't beautiful Ferb." I growled under my breath. He-thank the Lord-neglected to hear my spiteful slur and continued checking the tar-black goo out. Jeet cued into my comment though, chuckled and planted a soggy kiss on my cheek.

"Goodnight" Nobody showed any sign of confusion at Ferb's bizarre statement because it was no weirder than what usually came out of his mouth those days. We all watched in somber silence as he took the drug, a cotton sponge, a syringe and a spoon with him into the bathroom. But none of us did anything to stop him. That was the beginning of the end. And fucking _none _of us did anything to stop him. "H-hey Phin" Ferb's hat and mullet peeked out from behind the beige door. "Help me?"

I blinked over exaggeratedly—he was speaking to me? "A-alright"

"Phin" Baljeet tugged the hem of my jeans, a pleading look on his soft brown face. "Phin don't."

But I did. I padded—sock feet—into the washroom and smiled at the sight of Ferb sitting Indian-legged on the closed toilet seat. He was melting the drug—the _heroin_—by the flickering fire of a pink Bic lighter beneath an old spoon. He soaked the golden liquid—and fuck it _was _beautiful now—up with the cotton pad and then in turn sucked that up with the syringe. "Here, I can't bloody do it." He pinched the needle between two long and narrow fingers; holding the object out to me in disgust. "I can't do it to myself Phin." Ferb never had been fond of injections. I took the syringe curiously, looking from it to his expectant emerald eyes. "Well?"

"Well…" I inhaled deeply "Well I have no fucking idea what to do Ferb."

He rolled his glittering moss optics and got to his booted feet "Take my belt off for me and tie off my arm." I set the needle down on yellowing marble countertop, grasping the black leather of Ferb's tiny-waisted belt. Un-cinching it so slowly became erotic, was I cheating on Baljeet already? "Come on Phineas" He chided into my chest—when had he moved that close to me? "Come. On." Ferb's gaze met mine, I kept pulling on the belt as we watched each other, mouths centimeters apart, breathing down each others throats. He softly shut his eyes and I choked up. How was it possible for a human being—flesh and blood and ventricles and veins shoved together madly—to be so perfect? I lifted my right hand to cup his thin face. "What're you fucking doing?"

My heart shattered into a trillion shards. Why did he do it? Give me all the hints; moan 'come on' against my hot skin, insist upon _me_ undoing his belt, letting me get _so, so _close. He gave me everything then tore it away because his Highness called for only the most agonizing forms of amusement and I was his favorite toy. "Nothing" I muttered, whipping the belt off then and acting as if that fleeting moment were naught. "Nothing Ferb."

"Why do you hate me Phineas?" He rasped sharply, his statement caused me to tighten the belt wrapped about his upper left arm violently.

"W-_what_?" He snapped me in my supreme fragility then had the nerve to ask me why I _hate _him?

"Don't deny anything Phin; I'm not so blind as you all bloody think." Mood shift number three, he snaked his head with hostility. "Find a fucking vein already!"

"Demanding aren't we" I mused cynically then sighed "H-how do I find a vein?"

Ferb hooked my wrist in his freakishly bony hand and guided me to the bend of his elbow. "P-press the needle flat against the skin and stick it into the blue." I scanned his ivory and found a ropey indigo vein; I winced as the long silver tip slid effortlessly into him. "Okay" His voice had risen a few nervous octaves "Now pull back the plunger to make fucking _sure _you're in the vein. If you are there'll be a drop o' blood."

I jiggled the syringe's plunger precariously, yes; there was a pin prick of scarlet. "I've got red."

It was unfathomable how he knew what that meant as soon as I'd spoken. "Right now…do it. All systems go."

"Are you ready?" I mouthed, staring into him. He would never be ready…never ever, ever.

"Fucking do it Phin." Was the determined reply, his expression was dreamy as he waited for what would quickly turn into his poison. "Do it." I looked on as the liquid-gold trickled from the syringe into Ferb, he squealed in pleasure and I wandered just how sick sweet it felt. "Ohh" His hair flopped down his back as he leaned his head against the tiled wall. "Ohh"

"What does it feel like?" The needle slipped from his skin like a used condom from a flaccid penis. By his ever-changing facial features alone I could see a trillion synapses turning red hot.

"Like chemical reactions. Like euphoria." Euphoria, that was the word floating around my head, count on Ferb to speak it. "I want this forever." I should have gotten it then that this would be his infinity, but in Buford's stall of a washroom I only laughed. Partly because I didn't want to see it—him becoming more of a drug addict than he already was—that was an unrealistic wish however. Ferb with his addictive personality; already hooked on cocaine and hallucinogenics…how could I have been so stupid? "Mmm" The drugs elicited a seductive moan that bubbled from between his chapped lips. I wrapped a hand around the bony shoulder blade; I felt his breathing slow steadily. His eyelashes—plentiful and lustrous, abundant as the compact bristles on a broom—tapped the side of my arm tenderly. His pupils were but pinpricks in a mass of glistening green iris. "When did you stop wearing my musk and start wearing his?"

It struck me like a potent blow to the face—Ferb taking olfactory note that I chose to sprinkle Baljeet's cologne on that morning instead of his own perfume. "When did _you _stop wearing your musk and start wearing hers?" Who was he to judge? He who spritzed Isabella's strawberry body spray in such quantity it surrounded him in a dewy cloud, he who abandoned his own scent. I missed it when I could smellFerb waltz into a room with the lights out and still know it was him.

"Because her perfume is lovely." His head swayed slightly, moving with bobble-headed idiocy.

"It smells like every other Barbie doll on the face of the fucking earth" I spat out the fingernail I'd been chewing on thoughtfully till then. "It smells boring, wear your musk again." His musk that reeked of overpowering floral fragrances—jasmine, hyacinth, orchid, rose, daffodil—but not only that, undertones of vanilla and tobacco and slow-burning-Birch wafted among the strands of scent.

"Baljeet smells like an old woman with that bloody Polo shit." The snide remark came out wobbly, as if Ferb were half asleep. His eyes drifted down until they were only partly open, the lid like a crescent moon. Again I marveled at the lashes—so long and thick they looked artificial—black plastic reeds fringing two green, glacial pools. Ferb's features were so perfect he was almost pretty. I detested his every sparkling fiber. His nails dug into the backs of my shoulder blades, when had he latched on? "I'm—so ugly"

"What?" I deadpanned; his head continued to gently bob, sending silky jade strands astray. "You don't really think that though, do you? You shouldn't, you're-" Even after nearly five minutes of unresponsiveness I continued on my pointless tangent. I talked for the sake of killing time. "Ferb?"

"Mmm?"

"I'm taking you to bed." Buford would've let him pass out on the cold tile floor, Mason too and Baljeet—Baljeet would've let him pass out with his head submerged in the toilet water. I fancied he deserved better than to dope-out in the bathroom. How to get him out though…Ferb _was _a head taller after all so I couldn't very well drag him. Bridal style, eventually I'd managed to pick him up. His height—and how ridiculously wrong it appeared—was the only awkward thing, he was far lighter than somebody 6'1 should've been.

Ferb was languid in my grasp as I carried him down the hallway, struggling desperately not to hit his skull or his twig-legs on anything. When after an infinity I'd closed us up in Buford's bedroom I laid him down as gracefully and tenderly as possible on the springy mattress. I watched him writhe sluggishly in the dying evening light. The dusky March eve morphed him into a vaguely transparent form; it was unnerving and I didn't get why. Ferb; regal, lacily masculine, deceptively soft and so painfully, painfully Ferb. Shadowed in the cool ocres and fuchsias of approaching nightfall. I opted to sit by his side, timidly ghosting my fingertips against his face every now and then.

"What is it about Baljeet?" Buford's intrusion caused me to fly away from Ferb's smacked-out form with lightening speed. "Hmm Phin?"

"W-what?" The question certainly did catch me off guard.

"What is it you like about Jeet?"

"I—I don't know." I took a deep breath and tried collecting myself. "His strength, his fearlessness, his passion. The way when he takes up a cause he'll let nothing tear through him, how he'll say exactly what he's thinking no matter the consequence…" I found myself draining, was that really it? Were there really no other aspects of Baljeet's personality I pined for?

"The ways in which he's exactly like Ferb. Not his humor, or the way he does his hair, or that stupid fucking bandanna or his adoration for glam rock. You love all the stupid fucking things you see in him that remind you of Ferb. That's low." Buford seemed genuinely pissed off; his paper-white cheeks were flushed scarlet, the blue eyes fiery. I found myself musing for the umpteenth time that Mr. Von Stomm—endlessly clamoring about with trashy girlies—was indeed head over heels for the Indian.

"What the hell do you mean?" I snarled, even managing a slight leer and shooting him the angriest glare I could—but I couldn't shoot daggers like Ferb could, my glares were never all that menacing.

"I mean that if he's not the one you want you need to stop messing him around. Fucking now. As gay as this sounds, I care about Jeet enough to know that something's changed. So you better step up you little faggot before I punch your fucking teeth in." The beefy fingers bunching up my sweater paired with the smell of cigar and rum on his steamy breath made me shrink back. "Ferb's made you into a pathetic mess and I don't want you doing the same to my best friend. I don't know what it is about Ferb the world is so in love with; he's not pretty, he's not all that smart. He's nothing special."

"Shut the fuck up" I hissed

"Do you love him Phin?"

"Of course I love him, he's my brother."

Buford smirked icily at my reply. "I wasn't asking about Ferb. But don't worry, the fact that you so obsessive-compulsively thought we were talking about him answers my question about who you'd choose in a life or death situation anyways."

"Don't you dare say that!" He was right, he was right, he was agonizingly right. "Of course I love Jeet!"

"I'm not as moronic as you think Phineas." Buford purred like a cougar in wait for it's' prey. "You fucked Jeet and you messed him up and he's not acting like Jeet anymore. And I don't like it, so you better make this fucking right."

_**You reached for the secret too soon, you cried for the moon.**_

_**Shine on you crazy diamond.**_

_**Threatened by shadows at night, and exposed in the light.**_

_**Shine on you crazy diamond.**_

_**Well you wore out your welcome with random precision,**_

_**Rode on the steel breeze.**_

_**Come on you raver, you seer of visions, **_

_**Come on you painter, you piper, you prisoner, and shine!**_

"**They spoil every romance by trying to make it last forever." -Oscar Wilde**


	22. On a Tightrope Ride

**I know, I haven't updated in a while. For that I apologize, I've just been getting imperceptibly high lately and my mind has been elsewhere. Also I was partying all weekend with my friends because my birthday was the 13****th****—Yay 17, but not really I despise the thought of aging. Right, none of you really care so on with the fucking show! R&R please, it keeps me going darlings. ENJOY! **

**Disclaimer: P&F and Tightrope Ride by The Doors are not mine, sadly. **

_**You're on a tightrope ride, nobody by your side**_

_**Well, you're all alone, gotta find a new home**_

_**Don't go over the line. You better keep on time**_

_**Or you'll lose your mind on your tightrope ride**_

_**Watch out, don't fall! Careful, don't slip!**_

_**You better get your balance; you have to feel the way**_

_**There are no more questions, no answers today**_

_**There are no reasons, there are no more rhymes**_

_**But if you feel it, you can fly next time**_

_**You can fly next time, or maybe this time**_

**Late March 2009**

By the end of March Ferb had found his salvation in the hypnotic, tantalizing, orgasmic release of heroin. And it was on one of those breezy spring nights that he rediscovered himself. Mason had booked us a gig at the famed Hollywood Bowl, all 17376 seats were expected to be filled and the concert was already sold out. With the impending release of our second album and the endless smash hits on our first The Highlighters really had become a mania. Having people grope us and ask us for our autographs as any one of us walked to the store to buy some cereal or score some drugs had become run of the mill. Seeing our faces screen printed on countless materials or our likenesses molded in clay and plastic were normal too by that point in our career. It was fucking wonderful. I was the star of the show, it was _me_, it was _Phin Flynn (bassist/lead singer) _now.

While Ferb injected himself with smack and doted over Isabella, Baljeet and I took over the known musical world. Or at least—I thought we did, I joked myself into believing that the populous now moaned for the sight of my grungy red waves and Jeet's toasty brown skin. But when we burst through the drapery and out onto the stage of the epically proportioned Hollywood Bowl my ponderings changed. We received the raving applause that was expected—and then Ferb walked on, sneering, head flung high, looking for all the world like a spoiled little Prince. The stands went wild, carnivorous; they wanted to eat the sight of him up just to say that a piece of his incandescent essence was a part of them.

"FERB! FERB! FERB! FERB!" Even when he'd taken leave and shot me into the spotlight my name wasn't chanted at such a decibel. Why couldn't my cheeks glow such an immaculate pale-pink-porcelain? Why couldn't my eyes be fashioned by all the celestial beings in all their galaxies? Why? _Because even if you had all that you still wouldn't be Ferb Fletcher_, my brain unmercifully answered, _he's perfect isn't he_. Though the question was rhetorical I had it firmly rooted in my mind that yes, he was indeed the epitome of perfection. Ferb was clad in an oversized minx-fur jacket the color of dark chocolate along with a ratty fishnet shirt, worn blue Levi's, a Concho belt, strings of pearls and to finish it off he was barefoot with his toenails painted black.

"To badly quote one of the best films our world has ever seen 'What kind of god creates Adam in his image and then pulls Eve out of him to keep him company? And then tells them not to eat from the Tree of Knowledge? He was so micromanaging. So was Adam. But Eve... Eve just wanted to know shit. She took a bite of the apple, and she found out what was good and what was evil. Then she gave it to Adam, so he would know. Because they were in love. And that was good, they now knew.'" I recognized the passage from a scene in that flick Ferb watched on repeat; Hedwig & the Angry Inch. He stopped for a full minute, the crowd careened forward, into him. "Hollywood...would you give me the apple?" His question was met with rabid screams of 'YES! YES' and moans and groans and seductive gazes. Without further ado Ferb strummed the strings of his Tele loudly, opening up with D-Rive…I wandered if he would ever muster up the strength to play a screeching electric rendition of 'Sink or Swim' like I had. He wouldn't though, because it would ruin the essential beauty and Ferb was very careful about wrecking anything he fancied gorgeous.

"I LOVE YOU FERB!" A topless brunette girl—probably sixteen—leapt on stage, before she could do anything though security threw her back into the crowd—that pool of liquefied, boiling bodies.

Isabella stood in the audience, her pitch-black hair swishing about her curvaceous and moonlit silver skin. The jewels of his eyes never strayed from her as he sang. So I fingered Baljeet's hairspray-crusty locks and smashed our lips together, making sure to bare an obnoxious amount of tongue. Cameras clicked, people cheered; forever capturing our mouths intertwined raunchily. When really we were simply background characters for a billion posters advertising Ferb Fletcher and his circus of a life.

TTTT

"No" Ferb jittered, he started, he shook like an atom bomb about to blow. "No, they can't." His irises flickered from one person to another, daring us to confess what that we'd done it. "It was you."

"Me?" I scoffed, ashing my cigarette onto the carpet carelessly. "You really think I want mom and dad and Candace to see me like this? I'm in the same fucking boat you are! Fucking honestly, who invited them?"

Baljeet's lovely bronze cheeks paled to an almost greenish tinge. "Well…Candace had my number since way back when and I mean…she just kept on texting me and calling and I—I couldn't say no. You've gotta understand…"

"What's there to understand?" I pushed my chair away from the table angrily "Fucking Christ Jeet! We're so drugged up, and me and you we're…you know, and Ferb's fucking on heroin and Mason's a fucking asshole. Our family is so proper…Jeet they _can't _see this. They fucking _can't_."

The Indian chewed his crimson thoughtfully "Well Phin…there's not much I can do now. They're probably on the flight to LA as we speak."

Ferb had quit talking altogether and chosen instead to rock back and forth with his knees to his sunken chest like a patient in an insane asylum. "No, no, no, no FUCKING NO, NO, NO, NO!" His silky murmurs twisted into passionate screams and then back down to a hopeless whisper; "They _can't_"

TTTT

It was hard to believe the sister, mother and step father we hadn't seen in more than a few years were standing outside Buford's apartment—surrounded by the wildly flashing paparazzi and an interminable amount of reporters—but they were. The buzzer rang for the millionth time, Baljeet finally scurried past Ferb and I and picked up "Come on up" The fucker let them in.

Before anyone even so much as entered the flat Ferb gave a squeamish squeal and hightailed it to Buford's room to shoot up. I'd taken a few vodka shots and snorted a halfass line of coke, thus I wasn't completely smashed. "Oh my God" I whispered the phrase on a loop, watching Buford watch me boredly and despising my boyfriend—yes my fucking _boyfriend_-more by the second. "Shit" I leapt from my stupor and began to gather a quickly accumulating armload of drug and alcohol paraphernalia. "Shit, where can I hide this? Guys? Guys!"

"Cupboard?" The drummer yawned, idly puffing his ever present Cuban cigar. Idly yeah, because it wasn't his family about to see the wreck he'd become. I scrambled towards the ratty mock-ply-wood kitchen and jammed bottle after bottle, and a pocket mirror, and foggy baggies and condom wrappers and used needles into the top left shelf, making sure to slam the tiny door shut tight when I'd finished.

"Candace!" My spine stiffened at Baljeet's greeting, I swung towards the entry slowly. Sure enough there was my sister…at thirty three she looked twenty—she looked younger than Ferb or I could even dream of. Her skin was peachy and freckled (Whereas mine was grey with ugly dots), her hair that lush strawberry blonde it'd always been (I could nearly touch a time when my hair hadn't been greasy flat curls but a glorious cherry mane) and she was radiant. "Mr. and Mrs. Fletcher!"

"Phineas!" Before I knew it Candace had her arms wrapped about me. "Phinny, I've missed you twerp!" Relief flooded the pools of my mind; at least my sister's childish nicknames were still stable. "Where's Master Ferbius at?"

"Uh..." I stammered, trying to cook up a lie under boiling pressure.

"He's come down with the flu." Buford sighed, genuinely appearing concerned for the singer he couldn't stomach. That was one of the first times I thanked God for Buford's abilities in deviance; after years of beating up Jeet and concocting epic tales of how the little Indian hurt himself he was bound to be a phenomenal liar.

"Would any of you like a drink?" Baljeet pranced about the kitchen being the prissy bitch he was. "Bourbon? Vodka? Gin and tonic?"

I saw dad flinch uncomfortably. The only thing different was the grey streaking his chocolate hair. "Tea will do son" Baljeet managed an awkward grin and put the kettle on. "Phineas!" Dad embraced me coolly, I felt that he noticed the change; he knew we weren't all right. "How're you mate?"

I tremoured, plastic-grinned "Great, we're cutting our second album. How about you?"

"Forget about us" Candace exclaimed, pinching the fabric of my filthy t-shirt between her fingers "Where's that pre-Madonna step brother of mine?"

"Uhh—err, one minute I'll just go in and see if he's alright before I let you all in." I glanced between Baljeet and Buford then galloped into the bedroom. At least he'd finished taking his drug; mind you the way he laid slumped on the mattress wasn't very convincing. "Ferb!" I hissed "Ferb!"

"Wha-?" The doped up flesh quaked "Hmm?"

"Remember that acting course you took in school? Right well, you've come down with the flu, you're _very _sleepy. Stick with it" I rasped my instructions, Ferb merely appeared befuddled but nodded.

"Hide the—the" He raised two clammy hands and waved them every which way, I understood though…was my ability to read his thoughts returning? One glance at his face—lost beneath its own blanket of psychedelic smog and pitch white stars—proved otherwise. Nevertheless I gathered his opium related tools and jammed them into Buford's underwear drawer. "Thanks man" Long, drawn out words. "Thanks"

Not a moment too soon, Candace pranced in and placed herself airily at the foot of the bed. "My darling Ferbeus!" He paid no mind, staring intently at my sister's sandal-clad feet instead. "F-Ferb?"

"Can I have your gladiators?" His question poured from his mouth in clumpy wires. "They're beautiful."

"Umm, you can try them on…I doubt they'd fit you." She tried to be offhanded, tried to laugh but I could see her soft grey eyes trying to figure out what was wrong with the picture. Candace slowly un-strapped the brown leather and tossed them. "Here" Ferb poked a gawky—awe-strikingly petite—foot out, obviously expecting one of us to dress the Prince. I did, I slipped his foot into the shoe like a scene from Cinderella—and they fit, those ridiculously tiny, totally feminine gladiator sandals _fit._ "…They're yours Ferb, I'm sure it's part of some epic scheme but they're yours."

There were no wondrous plans anymore except maybe Ferb's tangy death wish. "He's tired Candace, we should go have a rum and coke with Jeet and Buford and Nessa and Bella. You can catch up with them. We'll leave the invalid here to waste away." She had no idea how serious my last sentence was.

"Alright Phinny, alright. Get better soon Ferb!" Candace leaned over and pecked the china-white forehead; he was too stoned to notice.

TTTT

"What a crew" Mom smirked, the sweet crows-feet surrounding her bright eyes crinkling and yet I imagined the lighthearted remark held midnight interiors. I sat on the couch between Baljeet and Isabella, Buford and Vanessa on the loveseat opposite with mom, dad and Candace on chairs we'd dragged from the kitchen. "I can't believe my boy's all grown up" Mom gushed affectionately, I was ashamed by my nonstop chain smoking. "And little Isabella, are you two still dating?"

Awkwardness. Izzy lifted her silky brown eyes to my indigo ones. "Well, actually Mrs. Flynn I'm seeing Ferb now."

"Oh!" She gasped, smiled. "Are you seeing anyone then Phineas?"

"NO" I exclaimed rather loudly and without hesitation, Jeet looked peeved. Nobody spoke for a few dreadfully long minutes.

"I'm hungry!" Candace broke the quiet cheerily, flaunting into the boxy kitchen and starting to fling open cupboards. Buford stared at me meaningfully, I had no clue what the guy was on about. Until I remembered.

Her hand darted towards the top left shelf. "NO!" We all—Jeet, Buford and I—screamed in sync. I got up and gracefully placed my frame between my sister and the cupboard door. "That's where—uhh—Isabella keeps her private journals."

"O—kay" Candace frowned, mercifully digging into the fridge rather than prying. "You got anything in this house besides liquor?"

TTTT

Baljeet, Buford, Vanessa, Isabella and I bussed the Flynn-Fletcher family back to the airport come nightfall. The mood had turned sour. Ferb stayed cooped up inside—never thinking once to say hello or goodbye.

_**Did you think we were all together?**_

_**Did you think we were all the same?**_

_**Did you think maybe I could help you?**_

_**Remember your name, remember the game**_

_**What's the name of the game?**_

_**It's a very good game, never stays the same**_

_**It's the number one from mud to sun**_

_**You're on a tightrope ride; we're all by your side**_

_**But you're all alone, and we're going home**_

_**And we're by your side, but you're all alone**_

_**Like a Rolling Stone, like Brian Jones**_

_**On a tightrope ride**_

"False face must hide what the false heart doth know." -William Shakespeare


	23. In My Hour of Darkness

**Talk about epically fast update! I figured I owed it to my faithful readers for leaving another long break between chapters awhile ago. Anywho I hope you enjoy this installment of my precious HC. Also I've figured there are actually only around 9 chapters of the story left (OH NO) before Free Bird which I pray you'll all read. ALSO you guys should all listen to the band Mayhem—Black Metal from the late 80's-90's. Per Ohlin is my life. [= ENJOY and PLEASSEEEEE R&R I appreciate it SO SO SOOOO much**

**~~Mick~~!**

**Disclaimer: P&F and Let It Be by The Beatles aren't mine! **

_**When I find myself in times of trouble**_

_**Mother Mary comes to me**_

_**Speaking words of wisdom, let it be.**_

_**And in my hour of darkness**_

_**She is standing right in front of me**_

_**Speaking words of wisdom, let it be.**_

_**Let it be, let it be.**_

_**Let it be, let it be.**_

_**Whisper words of wisdom, let it be.**_

_**And when the broken hearted people**_

_**Living in the world agree,**_

_**There will be an answer, let it be.**_

_**For though they may be parted there is**_

_**Still a chance that they will see**_

_**There will be an answer, let it be.**_

_**Let it be, let it be.**_

_**Let it be, let it be.**_

_**Yeah, There will be an answer, let it be.**_

**April 2009**

"He didn't even say _hello_" I groaned, gnawing a fingernail "How could they _not _think something was up"

"The fucking tool" Jeet snarled "What kind of fucking asshole shoots up before his family comes to visit."

"Shut up" I sighed, all I wanted to do was shove the Indian's head off of my chest. He was suffocating. "He doesn't know any better."

"Oh yes, Ferb Fletcher, musical prodigy definitely didn't know any better." His sarcasm did little to cover the petty jealousy. "Honestly Phin you've gotta stop standing up for the fucker."

"He _has _a name Jeet" I growled right back, fingering a lackluster cerise wave. "Just fucking stop,_ please_" I moaned when I caught his lips moving to jeer out a reply "I'm—I'm tired. I can't deal with this right now"

"You know who you sound like right now Phineas—making up pity-whoring excuses? Ferb. You sound just like fucking Ferb."

"OUR FIRST SHITTY REVIEW!" Buford barged in—thank Jesus; he had a knack for breaking up arguments by bursting in at crucial moments. "Come read this shit, it's about our gig at that stadium in San Fran last weekend." Me and Baljeet—fiery little Baljeet, still flaming with rage—curled around Buford's brawny frame and read. It was an article for a proper newspaper, insulting headline and all. Only the piece didn't target rhythm or percussion it tastelessly attacked Ferb;

**Is Fletcher Losing His Touch?**

**The Highlighters—a band from small town Danville that tore the world apart with the resonating voice of their charismatic front man Ferb Fletcher disappointed thousands at their San Franciscan concert last Saturday. The show started as per usual with drummer Buford Von Stomm (26), rhythm guitarist Baljeet Patel (24) and bassist Phineas Flynn (24) busting onto the stage with their usual gusto; Von Stomm looking stoic and tough as ever, Patel hyperactive and cocky and Flynn dark and brooding. What made this set somewhat different however was Fletcher's denial to walk on after the other members of his quartet had. Long minutes passed with Patel lazily playing guitar riffs on his Gibson Les Paul and Von Stomm improvising beats. Finally Flynn threw his bass down and went back stage, emerging a few moments later with a rather languid and sickly Fletcher. Everybody's favorite—or most deeply despised—musical genius, the antithesis to all Pop/Rap/Hip-Hop/New-Wave-Rock appeared with all the stage presence of a Popsicle stick. Fletcher went through the entire set holding onto the microphone for support and instead of belting out his poetic lyrics chose to murmur and groan them. Somehow his being there still caused teenagers of either gender to faint at his mere sight but anybody attending who wasn't a sex hungry youngster could see Fletcher nearing his breaking point. As an aged and experienced rock journalist who's witnessed many a fallen star—from Brian Jones to Jim Morrison to Kurt Cobain—I found it plain to see what was happening the whole while. Thousands who were flocked in that steamy San Francisco joint speculated Fletcher was under the thick veil of fatigue, what a farce. I—along with other seasoned reporters and journalists—saw straight through the act. Fletcher wasn't exhausted; he was out of this world sedated. Drug addicted. Another false-God thrown up on a pedestal just to tumble right back down into the sacrificial flames of narcotics. When The Highlighters first appeared on the scene Fletcher held a boyish appeal, this Saturday pasts concert showed California a changed individual. Is the green haired pretty-boy losing it? Will we soon have nothing to remember him by save for a tombstone and countless memorabilia? Time will tell. **

"He can't see this" I gasped, crushing the paper loudly. "This—is fucking-"

"True, dead true." Baljeet smiled sickly, I wandered if he was imagining Ferb's dying. "Face the facts, he's twenty six and already addicted to smack. How long can he last?"

"DON'T YOU DARE SAY THAT" Even I surprised myself with the bite in those words. "You're disgustingly jealous and it makes me wanna puke my guts out."

By this time Buford had wordlessly excused himself and went out onto the balcony to smoke a blunt. "But you love me Phineas."

"Yeah Jeet, you know I do." I planted a firm kiss on those lush lips I held zero attraction for. It was simpler this way.

TTTT

Alone. The girls gone out; Isabella to Geffen Records with Mason and Vanessa to photograph some new and upcoming 'It' kids. The boys gone out; Baljeet and Buford to an interview with Times. Alone. Ferb and I. For the first moment in a long while he'd left the bedroom and sat at my feet as I played with his iridescent hair. "Turn on the telly would you?"

"Sure" I flipped on Comedy Central, South Park or some other raunchy cartoon was airing. "How does it feel—heroin"

Ferb bent his gangly neck back—revealing the corpse white skin I wanted to bruise with hickies till it resembled the victim of a mugging. "I reckon it's altered my perception. Fucking lovely." I smiled at him, he smiled back. That small victory made my day, oh the pathetic vermin I'd become. "What's this?" Twig fingers clasped a Rolling Stone magazine I hadn't yet come across. The cover featured a photograph of dad looking slightly remorseful, slightly pissed with the caption '**Lawrence Fletcher Reveals All, page 45' **under itand a smaller picture of Ferb wrapped around a microphone, holding a cigarette in one hand the neck of his Telecaster in the other in the right corner. "Izzy musta brought it home."

Why would she, why, why, why? "Yeah, um do you want to go out for a smoke?" My attempt to distract the singer was hopeless, maybe if I'd been a better actor or a better salesman or a better person.

"Yeah, yeah, jus' let me read this bit first"

**Lawrence Fletcher Reveals All**

**by Timothy Majors**

**I was lucky enough to catch up with Mr. Fletcher in his quaint Danville home. Fletcher is a clean-cut man in his fifties, sporting a head of graying brown hair and a stately pair of glasses, not at all like his son; renowned rocker Ferb Fletcher of The Highlighters. Lawrence agreed to sit in for an interview with Rolling Stone simply because as a kid it'd been his favorite magazine. The following is what came of my questioning Fletcher about the state of his son, step-son (bassist Phineas Flynn) and their friends;**

**TM: Thank you for letting me take a bit of your time Lawrence. **

**LF: Oh, think nothing of it. **

**TM: I have a million and one things to ask but I won't keep you. First and foremost; how does it feel to be father of the rock icon of the decade? **

**LF: Oh my when you put it that way…Well honestly I used to be in a band me self, not nearly as famous though. But really, I feel no different. I just miss all the boys. **

**TM: You visited them a few weeks ago in Buford Von Stomm's Los Angeles apartment, am I correct?**

**LF: Why yes; Linda, Candace and I did. **

**TM: What did you think, have they changed? **

**LF: (shakes head) More than I'll ever understand. I mean Buford and Baljeet seemed unchanged; still polar opposites, still black and white. But Phineas…Oh Phineas. **

**TM: Your step-son and bassist for The Highlighters, how has fame altered him? **

**LF: It's just—peculiar. All through his childhood Phineas was the life of the place, always carrying out pranks and really loving the way things went. He could find the good in anything. When I saw the boy…he was very frail, drained. No longer the optimist, choosing to sit quietly. The three of us (Linda and Candace Flynn) talked predominantly to Baljeet and Isabella—my but she's beautiful. Phineas only answered what we asked him, and even then vaguely. He really has become the image the media's painted for him; an angst-filled character with a soft smile every now and then. **

**TM: What about your son—Ferb? **

**LF: He'd come down with the flu, at least that's what the other boys told us. Linda and I didn't get the opportunity to speak with him, Candace did for about five minutes. He asked her for her sandals, that's it. She was quite shaken when she got out. On the flight home she kept telling us how Ferb was all wrong. How he didn't look flu sick but another sick she couldn't put her finger on. **

**TM: Did he at least greet you and Linda? **

**LF: I suppose he was too sick. Though even when Candace was in the room with him he seemingly forgot to say hello or goodbye. It's a tragedy. You see Ferb was always the perfect school boy; he excelled in every course. It was only when he was a teenager and when Phineas planted it in his head to form a rock band that Ferb began taking on odd habits. **

**TM: Odd habits? **

**LF: Not odd…more like off. Things he would never have done before. He started smoking cigarettes and nicking beer. Then he grew his hair out and wore stranger and stranger stuff; cross dressing, Gothic attire. He got into some really dark stuff; Demonology, history, and poetry. Oh how he adored poetry. It were Phineas' idea to begin a band in the first place, Ferb was the one who made that a reality and I think that may be part of what started Phinny in that pessimistic phase he never shook off. **

**TM: Are you saying that it's Ferb's fault Phineas has become the way he is today? **

**LF: You're making me sound awful if you put it like that. All I'm telling you is that the fame Ferb gets must seem unjust to Phineas seen as he was honestly the founder of the band. **

**TM: Sort of the situation Brian Jones had when Mick Jagger began getting all the media attention in the Stones then. **

**LF: Yes, exactly. **

**TM: What do you think of Ferb's current state, and considering you didn't get to talk to him during your latest visit what would you tell him if he were here? **

**LF: I think my son is precisely what the industry wants him to be; a self destructive Dionysus with bite and bedroom hair. What I'd like to say to him—I miss him, not just because he's been gone. I miss who he used to be; that boy on stage, that singer always wielding a cigarette and a bottle of vodka-isn't Ferb. That is the shambles of a former prodigy and Ferb if you're reading this I don't mean to hurt you. I simply mean to put it through your thick skull that you've got to stop before anything terrible happens. Though I think it already has. **

He tore it in half. Ripped it in two and watched the innards of the magazine drift onto the carpet. "It's been me all this time."

"No, Ferb" I dragged my thumb through the greasy hairs at his scalp. "Don't put yourself through thinking that."

He was so pathetic, curled up by my calves, chewing the skin on one wrist. "But dad's right Phin, you're the one who should be famous. I stole that away, I made myself lead singer _and_ guitarist. Christ; couldn't even give Jeet the glory of being lead on the instrument he's always loved. No wonder he fucking despises me."

There was the raw truth; I did nothing to deny what he said. Because it was true. Except even though I'd been the one wanting a musical career in the first place Ferb made it. He'd never imagined his poetry in the spotlight but through those masterful fingers making fucking _love _to the guitar strings he'd turned his words into an orgasmic, ethereal sound. I wanted to tell him, I wanted to tell him. Funny I didn't. "You want a back rub?"

Ferb stared up at me; puppy eyed, pouty. Fucking wishing I'd cave and cry into his shoulder telling him how he wasn't a terrible human being after all. "Yeah" He got up onto the couch; shed his so-old-that-it-was-see-thru Mayhem t-shirt. I fell to my scraped knees so his bare back was next to me. I gaped at the stark perfection; ivory skin sporting soft brown polka-dot beauty marks and an array of thinly veiled bone structure. I groped either shoulder blade and began making long, slow rotations. "Mmm" I rubbed straight down to the line of his leather belt. "Harder" So I started to add my fingernails, shredding his skin, breathing hotly. My arousal was inevitable. "Mmm Phin" I bit and sucked along the line of his bumpy spinal cord. "Mmm" _I want you. _My cranium shrieked. "Stop" So sudden, my hands immediately dropped to my sides. "Just…gimme a minute."

TTTT

Ferb went into Buford's room. I sat with my face buried in fingers and ginger red curls. He came out awhile later; wobbly as a newborn, with a smile spanning his entire face. Numb. A zombie. A shadow. A fraction of the pre-smack Ferb. "It really has been all my fault."

He'd sliced both wrists open.

_**Let it be, let it be.**_

_**Let it be, let it be.**_

_**Whisper words of wisdom, let it be.**_

_**Let it be, let it be.**_

_**Let it be, let it be.**_

_**There will be an answer, let it be.**_

_**Let it be, let it be.**_

_**Let it be, let it be.**_

_**There will be an answer, let it be.**_

_**And when the night is cloudy,**_

_**There is still a light that shines on me.**_

_**Shine until tomorrow, let it be.**_

_**I wake up to the sound of music**_

_**Mother Mary comes to me**_

_**Speaking words of wisdom, let it be.**_

_**Let it be, let it be.**_

_**Let it be, let it be.**_

_**There will be no sorrow, let it be.**_

_**Let it be, let it be.**_

_**Let it be, let it be.**_

_**Whisper words of wisdom, let it be. **_

**"I lean to you, numb as a fossil. Tell me I'm here." — Sylvia Plath**


	24. Wish You Were Here

**Oh man sorry for the long ass gap between updates. I just have tons of shit happening. So I tried MDMA it was great, I recommend it and hope there're no police monitoring this website. xD Moving on this chapter is the last touring one (which for some reason always take me the longest to write). Hmm what else…I hope you all keep reviewing, I smile so much when I see your sweet motivation. Oh right, a lot of Ferb this chapter was inspired by Per Ohlin (formerly of Black Metal band Mayhem) so keep in mind he was a hell of a sexy man!**

**~~Mick~~!**

**Disclaimer: Phin and Ferb and Wish You Were Here by Pink Floyd (which I sang at a benefit concert for my friend who died by the way) are not mine! **

_**So, so you think you can tell Heaven from Hell,**_

_**Blue skies from pain.**_

_**Can you tell a green field from a cold steel rail?**_

_**A smile from a veil?**_

_**Do you think you can tell?**_

_**And did they get you to trade your heroes for ghosts? **_

_**Hot ashes for trees?**_

_**Hot air for a cool breeze?**_

_**Cold comfort for change?**_

_**And did you exchange a walk on part in the war for a lead role in a cage?**_

**Late April 2009; British Columbia**

Ferb waved America goodbye with bandaged wrists. A classy old case of self destruction was always the best way to christen a tour. The Highlighters were off to Canada this time for nearly four months, and I could see already that none of us were excited. The start of our Canadian escapade lacked the electricity we'd acquired in Europe and Japan or the frantic newness of our first tour of the States. It was going to be hell.

TTTT

"Turn off the bloody lights" Ferb whined as Baljeet flicked on a light switch or two in order to fetch himself a mug of brandy. "They're too bright"

"Fuck off Ferb, just because you cut yourself doesn't mean you have to be immersed in darkness for the rest of your life" I winced at the heartlessness in Jeet's apathy filled remark. Mind you lately Ferb had been locking himself away more often than not, no light flooded under the doorway of his bedroom. He kept himself in a state of permanent pitch black. If I'd been worried about him before I felt absolutely terrified now. Ferb said he tore his arms open out of sheer boredom but I doubted that more and more as time flitted by.

"Bugger off Jeet" He sighed—defeated, where fire had been there were but drenched coals. His new forte was wearing black; those fancy lacey leather boots, a pair of tight-as-fuck old jeans doused in splotches of dirt and paint, a tailed suit jacket and some sort of dark band t-shirt. Ferb would line his eyes with smoky black, paint his already pale skin even whiter. "We've gotta perform in an hour, just leave me some peace."

The Indian gulped down his contempt, choosing instead to smile sweetly. "But of course darling, anything for the corpse Princess."

TTTT

"What. The. Fuck." Buford worded his confusion, a shared emotion between him Jeet and me. Our stage was all wrong; the lighting was ghostly, giving us the bare minimum to see with and all over the space there were staked pig heads. Real, dripping, stinking, rotting hog craniums.

"What is this…" I trailed off, the audience was freaking out; some moaning at the change and others revolted to the point of vomit. I myself was erring on the nauseous side when Ferb walked on. Wearing Corpsepaint. His skinny cheeks, chin, nose doused in ivory; giant smudges of onyx around the glittering forest green ink-pools. He looked for the entire world like a dead body; with wavering poetic stance and an agonized expression on the cold white lips. "Ferb"

"OI VANCOUVER" He shrieked into the microphone. "WHAT DO YOU WANT?"

Varied cries were thrown into the taut April air. "YOU!" "THE HIGHLIGHTERS!" "FERB! FERB! FERB! FERB!"

"Now we're gonna do somethin' a little different tonight." Well drunk, I could tell because his accent became fathoms stronger.

"_What_?" I snapped, when had the plans come to altering anything? Before I knew it Ferb played the opening of Two-Way Romeo—his guitar was tuned steps down and the use of a harsh Big Muff Pi through a shitty Marshall amp made it sound unsettlingly distorted. Baljeet and I shared a horror struck look when Ferb's vocal cords pushed out the lyrics. He didn't sing. He screamed. Not yelling into the mic screaming but full out Burzum-esque howls of the damned. When had he perfected that technique? Another slap in the face. I didn't know him at all.

The audience loved it. Girls and boys alike clamored against the stage, trying to cop a feel, to hold a part of him. He'd really outdone himself this time. It scared me though; the glazed eyes, the tortured cries. The solo came up…at least it was meant to. Realizing Ferb wasn't about to play it anytime soon Baljeet slowly transitioned into it. "I need to know one thing." Ferb moaned "Tell me how this feels" He ripped his necklace off; a razor attached to a rusty chain and dropped to the floor. He crawled so far that the crowd actually _could_ touch him, pulled his jacket sleeve up and proceeded to draw long red lines over both wrists with the razor blade. "WHAT DOES IT FEEL LIKE?" He fucking screamed "FUCKING TELL ME" Ferb cut so deeply that blood poured out over dozens of spectators. "TELL ME"

Their applause was reassurance enough. The Corpse Prince smiled.

**May 2009; Alberta **

**The Vancouver Sun, August 28****th**** 2009**

**Highlighters' Stun Audience with Brutal Theatrics**

_**James Branson **_

**Fans lined up hours before the show; anticipating the sight of their newfound idols The Highlighters. Or moreover; anticipating the sight of front man Ferb Fletcher. Throughout their short duration in the music industry so far these four boys have reshaped what performance is. At first it seemed they were just another raunchy punk band, but they've changed before our very eyes. The Highlighters are a collaboration of Classic Rock, Punk, Grunge and even Metal masked by Fletcher's lacy poetry. Their Vancouver show further altered peoples' perceptions. After waiting endlessly for the concert to begin fans were ushered into a cramped, sweaty stadium that stank of rotting flesh. Sure enough staked pig heads lined the stage; some puked, some cheered, some passed out. Most were simply confused. Of course when it comes to The Highlighters the unexpected has become expected. The crowd only got more disoriented when Patel, Flynn and Von Stomm looked equally horrified by the violent exhibition. Stalking on Mr. Ferb Fletcher was the sole being who knew what was going on. He wore what appeared to be the funeral attire of an eccentric 19****th**** century gentlemen; face painted like a month old corpse, grass green hair matted with dirt. Fletcher proceeded to steal the show as always, he shrieked every word, he licked the microphone. Then to wrap his reputation up he climbed towards the audience and cut his wrists open, letting his own blood pour out over multiple spectators. The Highlighters have never been a predictable act but thousands think Fletcher is beginning to take himself far too seriously. **

"I-I don't want to be this anymore"

**They're Everything You've Always Wanted (In A Man)**

"They might as well put cameras in my coffin while they're at it."

**They Will Light Your Fire Better Than The Doors Did.**

"I hate feeling plastic."

**Burning an Eternal Flame for Our Generation**

"I can't tell Izzy because she's one of them. She's a vulture too."

**As Addictive as the Drug They Shoot Themselves Up With**

"I can only tell _you_."

**The Highlighters**

**The Highlighters**

**The Highlighters**

**The Highlighters **

I'd never seen the fame pry at him so deeply. He sat balled up at the foot of the trailer's tiny couch; wrapped in mounds of rough blankets and puffing on a cigarette. The once lustrous emerald locks were parted in the middle and oil coated.

"There's nothing I can do." I chided, inching closer to Ferb with each word. "There's _nothing_."

"Yes there is." He whispered, batting satiny kohl lashes. "You can—for one _fucking_ day—look at me like you used to. When I was somebody, when I had a personality, when I wasn't…_this_."

He knew though, he knew and I knew that I could never feel him in a lower amperage again. Ferb would never be the innocent, omniscient school boy he'd once been. "I can't do that." Why did I opt to tear apart his one request? Because seeing the spitfire of his irises darken tuned me on. I was sick.

Tears welled up in the saucer-cup optics, blurring knife edge vision. "Then will you just answer me one thing?" I nodded mutely and he continued softly, slowly, hesitantly. "Are you afraid?"

"Yes" I choked. He took my throat in his cold hands and bent my neck forward so that our foreheads were pressed against one another. "Yes"

"So am I" Ferb whimpered, a saltine and crystalline tear hung off his elfish chin. "I'm so fucking scared."

**June 2009; Ontario**

I found him passed out with his head in the freezer. "Ferb." Silence "Ferb…Ferb?" I latched a hand about one marble shoulder and shook his frame. "FERB." He slumped onto the yellowing tile floor with his jaded hair crispy ice and the eyelashes encasing those jaded eyes frozen white. "Wake up, please" I rocked his malnourished body. "Please, God wake up"

"What—who, oi get off a me!" Ferb shot forward and shoved me away; it hurt my innards more than anything else.

"I was just trying to help, fuck you'd think I'd done something terrible…" At that pin prick in time I realized that Ferb—despite his inhuman beauty, despite his interminable talent—didn't deserve me. All I ever did was try to sew him back together and he threw it right back in my face. Caked on top of my epiphany was-inevitably-the realization that despite how much of a selfish brat he was I'd never stop going the extra mile for him. I was the pathetic one. "I'm sorry…"

"STOP BEING SORRY" Ferb shrieked "I don't fucking get it, I treat you like complete dog shit and all you do is keep coming back. Why? I'm not your boyfriend, Baljeet is. Go save him from himself…"

"_He _doesn't need saving Ferb." I chided with sulfuric intent. "And you know what, Jeet half hates my fucking guts because of you. I could leave you like you left me but I don't. I refuse to let you go, why? You're—you're my brother, you were my best friend…" I cast my gaze to the linoleum when I finally admitted to myself that he wasn't my rock anymore. I could find no solace better than those strange lurid facial features he so effortlessly possessed, but he was more like a lightening storm than anything solid to confide in. "You're too good to fade away."

"I'm _nothing _good Phineas." Through gritted teeth he snarled. "Look what I've done to you…"

"Ferb you haven't done shit, I've made myself into what I am." I answered flatly.

"I could do _anything _and you'd still come running back. Anybody who'd do _this_" Ferb snatched a freshly sharpened kitchen knife off the counter. "Isn't a good fucking person" He smashed his beating chest to mine and pressed the blade to my vulnerable throat. "I could kill you right now" The words came out haltingly. "I want to make you bleed Phinny." And I yearned for it.

"Not here" I breathed heatedly "The-the bed" Ferb seized the collar of my ratty striped polo shirt and led me to a lumpy mattress.

"Take your bloody shirt off" He ordered and then as soon as I'd lain down he straddled me. The knife sat perched between crooked teeth, cutting his delicate mouth flesh raw. A petite hand placed blade to chest and sliced it to ribbons. Unlike Ferb I found no pleasure in the pain, instead I writhed in sheer agony wondering just how off the wall our singer/lead guitarist was becoming. "WHY?" Ferb dug the knife into the cushion a few inches from my head "WHY ARE YOU LETTING ME DO THIS?" Again he plunged the blade deep into the pillow. "Why Phin?" His gently pointed chin brushed my collar bone as he dipped his face low.

"Because somebody needs to let you!" I sighed sharply "We're all fucking terrified that you're going crazy, one of us needs to let you vent your senseless anger!"

"Maybe I am going mental." Ferb droned in an eerily flat tone "Maybe I fucking am" And he slashed my stomach open.

TTTT

"…Holy motherfucking Christ" I woke to Baljeet peeling a sheet off of me, my blood had dried into the fabric so that when he tore it off my wounds all began to gape again. "Phin! Phineas?"

"Hey Jeet" I yawned conspicuously "What's up?"

"What's up? What's up! What the fuck is up with you, what happened? Jesus…" The russet face flushed violet "Phin, what happened? Did you fucking do this to yourself?"

"No"

"Then who was it?" I remained nonvocal "It was him. It was that bat shit crazy fucking asshole, wasn't it?" Mute "WASN'T IT?"

"I let him" My voice cracked shamefully.

"Why?" Baljeet kneeled so our eyes were on the same level. "Why?"

My nose started to run along with my optics. "Don't kid yourself Jeet, you and I both know why."

**July 2009; Quebec **

"We need him _out _Mason." The Indian seethed. Jeet, Buford and Mason stood alone in the Boys washroom of the concert hall we'd just finished playing. Beautiful French fans were boiling over and rather than embrace their enthusiasm Ferb had locked himself up in his dressing room closet. "He's going insane."

"Oi, he can't be that bad" Mason chirped from around the fine circlet of a cigarette. I didn't dare move from my perch in one of the dirty pristine stalls. "Really Jeet"

"Did you _see _what he did to Phineas" Baljeet scoffed, I heard the sound of his cellphone turning on, a few electronic beeps and then an audible gasp.

"_Ferb _did that?" Mason said shakily "But I've never saw them wounds on Phinny."

"It's because he fucking hides them" Buford quipped roughly "Ferb shows off his cuts, Phin does the opposite."

"Yeah, cos_ Phin_ didn't cut himself! Ferb is a suicidal wreck. We need him out because I _know _that he won't do it alone. Ferb's destroying himself and he's trying to bring Phineas down with him. I won't let that happen Mason I fucking _won't_!"

"Calm down" Mason rasped "I'll figure somethin' out"

I sat stunned on the closed toilet seat for a long while after they'd left. When had The Highlighters' stopped being a band and become a battlefield?

TTTT

Hours passed. Our drummer, rhythm guitarist and manager had gone clubbing and our girlfriends' (well Vanessa wasn't _really _my girlfriend) were getting interviews done for a local college magazine. I railed a few long lines of cocaine as I dawdled purposelessly in the bands—excluding Ferb—dressing room. More hours spent pointlessly screwing about on Jeet's Les Paul. It was midnight when I finally got the balls to go see if Ferb was still alive.

The door to his dressing room was ajar but I had to rap on the locked closet. "Ferb?" Without replying the ambry opened. The twiggy white arms were slick with blood, he'd cut himself anew. Moreover he'd jammed his heroin needle into the deepest split; the way his skin parted so gruesomely caused me to shiver with uncontrollable pleasure. "Ferb" He stayed despondent, disconsolate. The glassy green pools were helplessly distant and flooded over with tears. A comatose of his own creation. "God I miss you."

_**How I wish, how I wish you were here.**_

_**We're just two lost souls swimming in a fish bowl, year after year,**_

_**Running over the same old ground. **_

_**What have you found? The same old fears.**_

_**Wish you were here.**_

**"Everybody shoved him, I very nearly loved him, I said hey listen to me, Stay sane inside insanity, But he locked the door, And threw away the key"- The Rocky Horror Picture Show**


	25. Though We Refuse To See

**Again I apologize for the long waits between updates; I've just been having one hell of a summer. Canada Day involved me and my friend Jordan on a drug binge-2CB, 2-CC then 2CB again. I've been partying, raving—which involved MDMA and MDPV and other such things. Wow, I have a hard time to find…time, but for this story I'll do it no matter what. I am SO pathetically committed to HC you would now believe. And oh my God! On Sunday I went to Heavy MTL Fest in Montreal where I saw Children of Bodom, Morbid Angel, Anthrax, Opeth, Motorhead and KISS. IT WAS AMAZING, ORGASMIC! Next CoB concert I hit up I'm finding out how to be a groupie [Alexi, Janne and Henkka ;D] Anyways please keep reviewing, it's my lifeblood! **

**~~Mick~~!**

**Disclaimer: Nope Phineas and Ferb STILL aren't mine. Not Dust In The Wind by Kansas either…**

_**I close my eyes, only for a moment, and the moments gone**_

_**All my dreams pass before my eyes, a curiosity**_

_**Dust in the wind, all they are is dust in the wind**_

_**Same old song, just a drop of water in an endless sea**_

_**All we do crumbles to the ground, though we refuse to see**_

_**Dust in the wind, All we are is dust in the wind**_

**August 2009**

The beginning of the end became eminent when on one of the first days in August—one of our first days back in LA from Canada—a letter arrived. It sat on Buford's coffee table in a discrete white envelope bearing a Geffen Records label. "What's that letter anyways?" Vanessa asked, pressing the paper between her violet fingernails. "It's been sitting here since yesterday…"

"Huh" Buford swiped the curious package from the brunette's dainty hands and roughly opened it up. "Dear Isabella; In regards to the letter you sent about…" The drummer trailed off and continued reading in awed silence.

"Well, what the fuck is it?" Baljeet snapped, Buford wordlessly passed the Indian the letter. Hazel irises brightened with what I thought seemed like sadist pleasure. "Shit."

I got the paper after Mason and Vanessa had finished reading it. My eyes flew down the page and I couldn't bear to process half of it in my cracked out state. "W-what? What is this?"

"It's a fucking letter Isabella wrote to Geffen in regards to Ferb going fucking solo." Mason said as calmly as he could manage. "That bitch has got to go."

"N-no" I stammered "He can't leave."

"And why the fuck not Phineas?" Jeet squealed, jarring a motorcycle booted foot into my ankle. "We'd be fine without 'im."

"You two argue like a married couple" The man of the conversation strode in; a scowl on his rosy kiss-swollen lips and his old brown Bomber jacket hanging half off the arch of his shoulders. "So just fucking get hitched already" Not a soul dared laugh, I threw Ferb the letter. His eyes—the pupils dilated so much that they nearly eclipsed the emerald—summed up what was written. "What the fuck is this."

"You know bloody well what it is Ferb." Mason spoke evenly, beady irises locked in combat with ever-flowering jades. "Your she-bitch wants _somethin' better_ for you so she shared her views with Geffen, not Sedgwick of course. Speaking of Paul he _will_ flip a nut when he hears about Isabella's little stunt, so I'd get prepared to find a new journalist to pork."

"No. She wouldn't do that. Izzy knows what the fans want and she knows that they want our music. Ours, not mine." He shook his unwashed head of mossy waves.

"You idiot" Baljeet snarled "The fans don't come for the music at all anymore. They come to watch you go insane. The Highlighters stopped being about the music a long ass while ago. And you know whose fucking fault that is? Yours Ferb."

Ferb Fletcher was at a total loss of words for the first time in ages. "Izzy wouldn't do that" Despite how much I detested the girl I held my doubts too. Having overheard Mason, Baljeet and Buford scheming only a few weeks beforehand I wondered where the truth truly lied. Ferb cocked his head to the floorboards "Can you come keep me company Phin?" I followed like an eager lap dog, Jeet looked thoroughly disgusted. And who could blame him.

TTTT

Until that point dropping Acid had never meant anything to me. But after locking ourselves up in Buford's bathroom and tripping for hours on end my perception was altered. "Do they really only come to see me go nuts?" Ferb spoke airily while twining his stick arms in sensuous swirls of flesh. "Has our music really stopped reaching people?"

Before my eyes were a landscape of spirals; I stared mesmerized. "Yes"

The singer broke out in sobs and leaned his gentle throat back. I watched him blankly. He hadn't shaved in awhile; tiny green hairs poked up all over his face in a careless fashion much like Kurt Cobain's. His skin itself held no luster; it looked almost corpse like. The delectable beauty marks marking his skin are drops of brown velvet. "Why can't you lie to me?" He choked, I wished I had. I wished I could take away all of his pain and lay it across my back like an iron barbell. Only Ferb was his own poison and nobody could wrench from him the way he carried the weight of the world on his shoulders. "We've gotten too high Phin. I was right earlier; space is for stars man. Not people."

I'd never heard anything truer. "If I could make this all disappear Ferb I would."

"WHY?" He suddenly shrieks, I jump back in horror. "Can you _ever _imagine living a normal bloody nine to five life after _this_? We have fame or we die Phin, that's how it is."

"I'm sorry." That was all it took. Ferb straddled me and started to pommel my cheeks and chest with surprisingly brutal punches. Before I realized it I was a broken mess and he'd gone. My mind still tripped and pulsed in a kaleidoscope. Glaring into a mirror was the last thing I should've done; my entire body was covered in matted blood; face smeared, hair dried in chunks.

"Oh my God" Baljeet stripped his jean jacket off and wrapped it around me; somehow I'd lost my t-shirt and shredded it bare handedly in the time I'd been alone in the washroom. LSD was awful when a bad trip settled in. "He did this to you. Again. Fucking Christ Phineas." Chapped ruby lips pressed against my collar. Jeet took my chin in his darker skinned hand and leveled his eyes with mine. "That's what it is about Ferb; he's stubborn as hell and refuses to back down, kind of like someone else I used to know." Me. Of course he was talking about me.

Instead of embracing the delicate rhythm guitarist I shoved him away and sneered. "Shut up Jeet"

"NO!" He yelled straight back and pushed my stomach with a fist adorned with glam rock rings and a fingerless glove. "Fuck you Phin. Ferb is never going to love you, stop taking shit from that little prick! Grow a goddamn backbone, maybe have some willpower. You do that or you'll fade into his shadow forever. So fuck you Phin, get your fucking priorities figured out!"

I may not have loved or adored him but Baljeet's anger was endearing. "Alright."

"W-what?" The Indian seemed taken aback at my blatant-ness.

"Alright. From here on out Ferb Fletcher doesn't exist." It hurt to say those words and yet at the same moment it was freeing, I smiled. Jeet grinned, he kissed me hard and for once I kissed him back with fire. It felt good to hold all the cards.

**Mid August 2009**

August 16th; I'd ignored Ferb for days and days. He, Baljeet, Buford and Mason got into countless fights but I stayed out of it. Rather than argue with him I acted as if he didn't exist. The Highlighters were falling apart at the seams; that was easy to see. Ferb and Baljeet mutually despised eachother, Buford hated me for stealing Jeet from him and Mason thought we were all a pile of drug addicted twits. The single common bond for everybody was that we resented Ferb deeply. We cast him out, we made him a nothing. Ferb thought everyone was against him since the beginning and now that we all really were I saw it taking a toll. His state of inebriation became endless; more vodka, more heroin, anything to get him away from the icy fronts we all sported. The Rolling Stones tore down Brian Jones and The Sex Pistols wrecked Sid Vicious. Just like our predecessors The Highlighters destroyed Ferb Fletcher.

**The Documentary**

I sat with my eyes glued to the computer screen.

"**Hello, Marty Anderson here for the University of California. Only a week ago Paul Sedgwick and co-manager Mason Donnelley allowed me to bring a camera crew to the apartment shared by Buford Von Stomm, Baljeet Patel, Phineas Flynn and anti-star extraordinaire Ferb Fletcher. I stayed for a few hours but the footage I got captures a lot more than I thought it would. Early videos of The Highlighters—just a year ago-show a band of energetic boys playing the music they adore. What I have here is what four young men have become. I'm warning viewers now that everything you see here is at its rawest and this is not recommended for a young audience." **

Before then I hadn't seen the film. It started off showing Martin Anderson knocking on the apartment door. **Buford answered; his coal dark hair for once clean, his stubble removed. "Camera crew's here!" He called back to whomever was in the homestead at that time. **

**Baljeet peeked his head out from the couch, obviously blazed on cocaine. "Hi!" The camera zoomed in on him "I'm Baljeet!"**

"**Martin Anderson, but call me Marty" The man—no older than any of us—smiled doggishly "Is it alright if I interview you individually?" The drummer and guitarist nodded in sync; helplessly best friends. "But first I'd like to get a shot of the other two…" **

**Baljeet looked uneasy at that point "Cops gonna see this?" **

"**No, this is a strictly internet documentary. I'm doing it as a social study project. Why?" Marty questioned, the cameras swung around in a search for Fern and I. Jeet shrugged and gestured for the team to follow him. He rapped on the bedroom door. **

"**What?" Came my annoyed reply.**

**Baljeet rolled his eyes at my aggravation and opened the door regardless. "Ladies and gents my moody boyfriend Phineas Flynn" Coke ringed my nostrils; I sniffled and waved to the camera. **

**Marty's crew didn't stay focused on me one minute before he asked inevitably "Where's Ferb?" Having not talked to him for nearly I month I wouldn't dare lead them to him. Buford sighed, Jeet and I dragged on behind the lot of them. Ferb was in the bathroom on a smack binge. Beneath the fluorescent lighting and multiple lenses he became a zombie; dried snot above his mouth, a cigarette hanging loosely. "Marty Anderson with California U, pleased to meet you Mr. Fletcher." **

"**Uhh" Ferb smirked warily "It's just Ferb mate" **

I skipped through around twenty minutes of film; merely interviews with Baljeet, Buford, Mason and I until I reached Ferb's say. I pressed play and watched eagerly; for the first few moments of Ferb's interrogation I'd been in the room but beyond that I was clueless.

"**So—and this is the question on ALL of our minds—are you going solo Ferb?" Marty chewed the cap of a blue pen. **

**Ferb looked awful, he laughed tearfully and wiped his dripping nose "Maybe when one of us…" **

**I sat beside him on the couch and managed to choke out a whimpering cackle of my own "He says maybe-maybe when one of us dies." I finished his depressing train of thought bitterly. At that point I excused myself and left. **

"**In your opinion Ferb, how are The Highlighters doing as of late?" Marty sure knew how to pry.**

"**I just need a break…" Ferb answered softly, indirectly "But they never were fond of me." **

I stopped the movie there.

**Late August 2009**

**Ferb Fletcher; Letting The Highlighters Unravel**

**Fletcher is Losing It**

**The Highlighters; Your Everyday Dysfunctional Family**

**Fletcher Discovered on Heroin Binge**

**Ferb Fletcher Going Solo?**

**Fletcher Considering Leaving The Highlighters**

**Ferb Fletcher; Possible Drug Charges?**

**The Highlighters; Not People You Want Your Kids to Look Up to**

"Every time I leave a lion pack of reporters jump on me. I can't go anywhere" Ferb spoke to me with the obvious fear of rejection.

I couldn't do it any longer; I swung towards him and cried. He held me equally as tightly as I held him. Before shit went bad and we splintered like decaying wood. "I'm sorry Ferb, I'm so fucking sorry." It wasn't about his bad traits; it was about all the fun we'd had together. Nights sleeping in the same bed, with the covers pulled up to our chins whispering and dreaming of ways to be better than small-town Danville, to be superstars in a faraway land. Day's dicking around, acting like our dreams had already come true and we fucking ruled the world. And that time, somewhere near sunset where reality would set in and we'd realize that hey, it was okay to just be two frantic and completely lost boys, to be Phineas and Ferb. We didn't have to rule the world, because we had each other. "I'm sorry Ferb"

Ferb stared me in the eye—all was forgiven—but I knew I was too late.

_**Don't hang on, nothing lasts forever but the earth and sky**_

_**It slips away, all your money won't another minute buy**_

_**Dust in the wind, All we are is dust in the wind**_

**"The public is wonderfully tolerant. It forgives everything except genius."— Oscar Wilde**


	26. I Did My Best, It Wasn't Much

**Finally you say! Yes I suck at updating lately but I've been having an eventful, sex, drug and alcohol filled summer which has been quite enjoyable so far. Of course every night I'm home I sit here typing laboriously because I'm addicted to writing this story. I've started a tragedy and I need to finish it. Thank you to my faithful reviewers, I love and adore you so much for doing what you do. Without such pitch perfect motivation I'd be at a loss for words. Continue please.**

**~~Mick~~!**

**Disclaimer: Phineas and Ferb: Not mine. Hallelujah by Leonard Cohen: Not mine. Deal.**

_**Now I've heard there was a secret chord**_

_**That David played, and it pleased the Lord**_

_**But you don't really care for music, do you?**_

_**It goes like this**_

_**The fourth, the fifth**_

_**The minor fall, the major lift**_

_**The baffled king composing Hallelujah**_

_**Hallelujah, Hallelujah**_

_**Hallelujah, Hallelujah**_

_**Your faith was strong but you needed proof**_

_**You saw her bathing on the roof**_

_**Her beauty and the moonlight overthrew you**_

_**She tied you**_

_**To a kitchen chair**_

_**She broke your throne, and she cut your hair**_

_**And from your lips she drew the Hallelujah**_

_**Hallelujah, Hallelujah**_

_**Hallelujah, Hallelujah**_

_**Baby I have been here before**_

_**I know this room, I've walked this floor**_

_**I used to live alone before I knew you.**_

_**I've seen your flag on the marble arch**_

_**This is love not some kind of a victory march**_

_**It's a cold and it's a broken Hallelujah**_

_**Hallelujah, Hallelujah**_

_**Hallelujah, Hallelujah**_

_**There was a time you let me know**_

_**What's really going on below**_

_**But now you never show it to me, do you?**_

_**And remember when I moved in you**_

_**The holy dove was moving too**_

_**And every breath we drew was Hallelujah**_

_**Hallelujah, Hallelujah**_

_**Hallelujah, Hallelujah**_

**September 2009**

Life had become monotony. I pressed the headphones tighter and tighter against the sides of my pounding head but nothing would block out the consistent drone of Ferb's new song. It was different. He played Baljeet's slightly out of tune Fender acoustic and sang through a scratchy headset rather than a microphone. I swigged down a shot of rum and sent him and his undeserving lover a melodramatic glower. "Can you play another fucking song Ferb?"

"_I'm calling out to you my friend, this is a message of love to you…_" The dulled irises didn't even lift at my snide comment, instead Ferb continued strumming milky chords and singing softly. 'My Friend' was an amorous ballad, plain and simple. Except with Ferb as the front man the lyrics shed their generic cloak and came out as agony ridden poetry. An agony ridden sonoroe for _her_. Isabella sat in front of the bargain-bin plastic chair Ferb was perched upon with her head of delectable midnight waves and one peachy cheek rested against his knees.

"Ferb" I snapped "Play something else; it's been a fucking quarter hour." My pleas went unanswered of course. If only he knew I didn't want him to stop the musical progress because I disliked the song. It was because I wished he'd be playing it for me and every strum plucked apart another heartstring. "Ughh" I began to rock back and forth slowly. "Fuck!"

Isabella's face cocked in my direction "If you don't like it Phinny" she chided in conceding manner "Then get out of here."

I eyeballed Ferb's baggie of precious china white heroin lying on the table by the door; a vicious thought came to my mind. "You know what? I think I will fucking go." On my way out I swiped the drug; it wore an innocent child's guise.

TTTT

Far more orgasmic than any psychedelic, with much more euphoria than any amphetamine. That was heroin. I'd gone back to Buford's apartment and laid on the bathroom floor, the tiles were like gently swishing water. My entire being was languorous and numb and Ferb was much too beautiful to ever be mine. "_I'm calling out to you, you cunt_" I scoffed to myself aloud; the words poured out in dismembered clumps. "_Cos' this is a message of hate to you. My friend_" That was what those sugary lyrics needed; some raw and putrid rage, a feeling other than fabricated puppy love. I could've shot myself for fancying such a thing; who was_ I_ of all people to judge being helplessly, pathetically in love? Who was I to think anger beat out beauty?

More heroin. Though at that point I could barely function I managed to get another nub of Lady Ivory heated up and smoothly pulled into Ferb's syringe. It flowed through my heavily pulsing indigo veins with such terrible glory. A contrast; a Ferb, imperfectly perfect. "Ughh" I groaned at my own stupidly romantic thoughts. In the blink of a blurry eye hours had passed. Why was nobody home? My body felt as if it were winding down…almost a suffocating sensation. My breathing turned thick, I clawed at my trachea. Suddenly it was impossible to fathom why Ferb adored the White Lady. But I suppose she was the best looking girl on the block.

TTTT

I woke up to IV tubes tugging my insides and the mechanical whir of a trillion different medical machines. "Wha-?" Baljeet was slumped over a chair next to my bed; his golden skin seemed pallid. Only one other person occupied the room; the white and blue painted walls typical of hospitals worldwide. "What?"

"Jesus Christ" Ferb could barely look at me; he kept his face buried tightly in his corpse hands. "Jesus Christ Phin" His voice almost sounded agitated and he refused to say anything more. Instead he got onto the too-level bed with me and pressed his nose into my clammy shoulder it was like sleeping beside an animated skeleton draped in bruised silk.

TTTT

I found out later that I'd taken a nearly lethal dose of heroin and it was simply by chance that Ferb had stumbled upon my convulsing body as he was about to go for his usual evening shoot up in the washroom. I wasn't sure whether to thank him for saving me or whether I'd prefer death over hearing him sing 'My Friend' to Isabella ever again.

Either way as I lay wasting away on that damned cot in the Drug Ward I received news worse than the knowledge I'd OD'd. "Ferb's gone."

"What." I propped my weathered elbows up on a downy pillow "What?" Of course Baljeet would say such a horrible thing with all the coolness he could muster.

"Him and Isabella up and left." The Indian shrugged nonchalantly "He's been saying a lot about buying a place up in Scandinavia, maybe he finally got one."

"How do you _not_ know where they went!" I snarled, Jeet's hazels' darkened in the fashion of car headlights. "I don't get why Ferb wouldn't tell me he was going…"

"BECAUSE HE DOESN'T FUCKING CARE ABOUT YOU?" His strip of wildfire scared me "I've been sitting by your goddamn hospital bed every night since you were admitted and what do you do to thank me? Ask where Ferb is. Some boyfriend you are."

"You're jealous."

"Jealous of what Phineas? The love affair you and Ferb have going on in your head? No, I don't envy that I pity it. Sometimes I wonder what I see in you" Baljeet could be an asshole, though as I narrate this story now I tell you he had more reason than I ever believed. "I'm going home." With Jeet's departure I was left horribly alone with my mind. I took in every fraction of my hospital room; the sickly blue tile walls and piecey beige floor. The fact that Ferb would run away to where—Europe? Canada?—while I recovered hit me like a metric ton of concrete. I popped an Oxycontin pill Buford snuck in for me that morning. Count on Ferb to leave when I required his presence direly. Inevitably though, the component that saddened me most was not that with each passing day I needed him more but that Ferb didn't need me at all.

**Mid-September 2009**

No trace, no sound. Ferb Fletcher and his woman—the Pamela to his Jim—had disappeared off the face of the earth. Buford and Baljeet merely cared because it put off the recording of our second album drastically. Meanwhile Mason and Mr. Paul Sedgwick were hard working on a solution to The Highlighters missing vocalist/lead guitarist/dominating creative force issue. The answer came to Jeet first. "Phineas."

"Huh?" I mumbled incomprehensibly. Despite being discharged from the hospital only a few days prior I'd shot up heroin again that afternoon, this instance using the correct amount of drug.

"He did it once before, why can't he do it again? Why don't we make Phin our front man?" A wicked grin captured Baljeet's lush red lips; he was a coyote on the prowl.

Mason's beady coco eyes sized me up "I'd say yeah cept' he looks about as bad as Ferb did before he off'd."

What better way to seek revenge than to steal his show? "No, wait" I stammered, a sorry attempt to get my shit together "I can do it" My voice leapt and wobbled "I can do it." Steady. "D-did he take his guitar with him?"

"It's the one thing he _did _take" Buford grumbled "But Jeet, you've got another Gibson right?" The Indian nodded to a honey colored Flying V resting against the wall. I was delicately handed the instrument by Mason who commenced in plugging all odds and ends in.

"Stun us Phinny" Baljeet roared softly "Break our hearts like Ferb did."

Though I knew I could never possibly tear the world apart like he'd done or be the voice of a generation I set myself up before the mic. "Sink or Swim?" My suggestion was met with mutters of agreement "Alright, can I start the recording with a quote recited before I start to play?" Mason confirmed that yes I could, he gestured that my words were being taped. Ferb told me the quote years before, a snippet the epic Charles Baudelaire said; "_Music fathoms the sky_." And then it began. Once more I became The Highlighters front man. Maybe not so alien, fragile, vicious. But a band leader all the same, somebody to look at and scoff 'He's no role model for our kids.' Somebody who mattered. That was all I ever wanted.

**Late September 2009**

**Sending you this letter reveals my state of occupation but I've decided that that doesn't matter in comparison to what needs to be said. Phineas, this morning I picked up a California Sun newspaper (I get one delivered here every weekday) and the name of my band was on the front page. Beneath usual terms I'd be pleasant with that, only the headline read 'The Highlighters; Continuing to Record 2****nd**** Album with Phineas Flynn on Lead'. I know you hate me Phinny, but stealing the spotlight? Stealing my fans? My glory? Tearing from me all that I've created? **

**I bought a summer house in Bergen Norway, that's where Isabella and I currently reside. We are happy and she is radiant. All good must come to a sudden end though. We're leaving for America in two weeks time, and when I get back Phineas you are dead to me. What else have you taken? Have you read every journal, every prose? Have you raped me of every inch of my intimate works? If so than I am shamed. I bleed myself out on those dreary sheets of paper and if you've even peered at them then my quintessence is no longer a mystery and I no longer possess any reason to live. Phin, for years you've been the single thing I could count on…the one person in the universe I held a concrete bond with mentally. It's gone now, by doing this you are nothing. Isabella is better to me than you could dream. It will be odd Phineas; without you I mean to say. Except I've been without you for eons; I'm not sure where or when but sometime along the line you lost yourself. You're angry and overly sensitive to practically everything, half the time I'm so numb and paralyzed by how scared I am of life that I want to nail myself into a wooden box. But I force myself to live, despite how I feel emotion too hard and too fast—you need to do the same, you need to get yourself back. I've pondered long and treacherously and I figure that being front man for The Highlighters **_**is **_**your way of becoming Phineas Flynn again. To be once more you're going to lose me. Though I find the prospect nauseating there is no bargaining. We're both far too gone to fix anything. Goodbye. **

He hadn't the courtesy to sign the envelope. It was devastatingly clear; I felt like maybe, for a second, I could be the only person left in the entire world. The music inside turned into a dull throb; overridden by the sharp crackle of a few dead tree leaves as the wind raked through them. Cool wind kissed my forehead and I couldn't stop myself from throwing up profusely off Buford's balcony. Ferb considered me less than human, less than invertebrate even. I'd gotten my revenge; the second album was released under the title 'The Highlighters; Sink or Swim' and I sang for the majority of the songs. Had it been worth it? Not in the slightest, not a fraction. Being front man hadn't helped me find myself; Ferb didn't realize that I merely did what I did out of insect jealousy. I drifted deeper and deeper into heroin, into the cerebral swirls of self deprecation. What Ferb would never comprehend was my need for him. A need that meant to be Phineas Flynn again there had to be Ferb Fletcher again. He'd deny it to his death, but Ferb fell apart and never retrieved the shards.

_**Maybe there's a God above**_

_**And all I ever learned from love**_

_**Was how to shoot at someone who outdrew you**_

_**It's not a cry you can hear at night**_

_**It's not somebody who's seen the light**_

_**it's a cold and it's a broken Hallelujah**_

_**Hallelujah, Hallelujah**_

_**Hallelujah, Hallelujah**_

_**You say I took the name in vain**_

_**I don't even know the name**_

_**But if I did, well really, what's it to you?**_

_**There's a blaze of light**_

_**In every word**_

_**It doesn't matter which you heard**_

_**The holy or the broken Hallelujah**_

_**Hallelujah, Hallelujah**_

_**Hallelujah, Hallelujah**_

_**I did my best, it wasn't much**_

_**I couldn't feel, so I tried to touch**_

_**I've told the truth, I didn't come to fool you**_

_**And even though**_

_**It all went wrong**_

_**I'll stand before the Lord of Song**_

_**With nothing on my tongue but Hallelujah**_

_**Hallelujah, Hallelujah**_

_**Hallelujah, Hallelujah**_

_**Yeah but it's not a complaint that you hear tonight, **_

_**It's not the laughter of someone who claims to have seen the light **_

_**No it's a cold and it's a very lonely Hallelujah.**_

_**Hallelujah, Hallelujah**_

_**Hallelujah, Hallelujah**_

_**Hallelujah, Hallelujah**_

**"The true genius shudders at incompleteness - and usually prefers silence to saying something which is not everything it should be." — Edgar Allan Poe**


	27. My Friend

**Did you really think I'd given up on you? Of course not, I apologize for the terribly late update but life has been busy. What with mad crazy happenings and school. Anyways this chapter is quite lengthy I must say and I rather like it. Man, after this there are officially only 5 chapters left. That depresses me but at the same time I'm fucking excited to start Free Bird which will shine light on Ferb's motives which sometimes don't make sense from Phin's point of view. An update will come shortly! Don't forget to R&R, it makes my life complete!**

**~~Mick~~!**

**Disclaimer: Phineas and Ferb STILL aren't mine, neither is My Friend or My Friend (You Cunt) by The Bang Bang **

_**Can you not see me?**_

_**Can you not see my eyes on you?**_

_**Can you not feel it?**_

_**Can you not feel my soul calling out?**_

_**I'm calling out to you my friend**_

_**Cos' this is a message to my friend**_

_**Oh can't you just sense it**_

_**Can't you just sense the power of love?**_

_**From me to you babe**_

_**From me to you and back again**_

**October 2009 **

_**Shadowy chalk fingers bobbed between my lips, I couldn't possibly stifle the oncoming shriek. "Just let me try" Ferb whispered against my earlobe, taking the earring into his mouth. I hadn't the slightest idea what he was talking about so I nodded mindlessly. **_

_**Before I knew what was happening there was a blade to my throat; the moonlit silver of Ferb's stolen hunting knife. "What are you doing?" I rasped**_

_**He pressed his knee against my crotch and gently rubbed. "That doesn't matter" Delicate, bony fingers were wrapped around my throat. He rocked back and forth, a friction I barely stood. And then he swung the knife into my belly, my innards made a sloshing sound with each thrust. As if brutally stabbing me wasn't enough Ferb added insult to injury "I'm going to cum, oh fuck" He tossed emerald hair backwards, eyes rolling and freed his manhood. Pain turned my vision lightening white every few milliseconds and so I barely took notice of his thick cock pushed up to the hilt in my guts. "Oh fuck Phineas" Ferb's mouth shuddered; he pressed the slimy hunting knife again to my neck. "Fuck" His face contorted in the tremors of orgasm and as he came in my overflowing organs he drew the blade across my jugular vein. My final sight was of an arc of blood rushing from my wound and Ferb grinning into it with mouth agape. **_

I woke up screaming and crying. Every night since he'd sent me the letter I'd been having gruesome and pornographic reveries; each starring Ferb as the classy American Psycho and I as helpless victim. That wasn't what scared me though. What truly grated my cerebrum was that my throat ached constantly as if I were about to cry, there was a vast emptiness in the pit of my stomach. I couldn't eat or rest, I could barely sleep and when the tiny slivers of it came they were filled with graphic nightmares. All because Ferb left. Existence had been at least somewhat tolerable with him around, Baljeet, Mason and droves of others would disagree. Only I thought that Ferb's chaos was a necessity, but maybe that's because I was the one following his trail of utter destruction trying to pick things up, trying to pinch the broken glass from his wounds and sew him back together. Of course all I seemed to do was cut myself on his dirty glass and share the infection. This is what hollowness felt like; I'd heard Ferb cry innumerable times, always saying that his life was spiked with nothingness, that he was often thrown into a blank white screen. Now I got it, and it overcame me with sheer terror.

"You alive in there Phin?" Baljeet knocked on the bedroom door of Buford's single bedroom apartment. I'd chosen an attempt at sleep while they partied. "Phin?" There was a legible sigh and the Indian came in. His hair wasn't straightened or sticky with spray; it lied against his full brown cheeks in lengthily black curls. "You were screaming"

"Nightmare" I wiped sweat from my brow with a freckled and graying forearm. "I'm fine." There it was again, and this time the urge came far too quickly; I burst out crying. No slow watering of the eyes, no shaking of dried lips, just obnoxiously loud and childish weeping.

"You're not fine" Jeet whispered into my hair. "You're not fucking fine Phinny"

"NEITHER ARE YOU!" The sound of my voice was so thin, so weak that I immediately stopped talking after the outburst. It was true though; as a kid Baljeet had been the nerd prince; obsessed with getting A's in everything, always receiving beatings from Buford, an enviable overachiever. Now he was a twitchy, insecure, drug addicted and jealous asshole. Fame had burnt apart us all. "Do…do you know if he's ever coming back?"

Jeet's upper lip spasmed bitterly "If I went you'd never question it. If I up and off'd you'd go on. Staying with you at this point is just proof to myself how much I lack. Sure we're all forever imprinted in musical history, but as people not one of us pass as decent. Except Buford, which is funny because what're the chances that the biggest fucking bully in childhood is the single one to come out a better man? Its Karma man; you, Ferb and I have led fucking disgustingly excess filled lives since we hit the top so we're nothings. Now that we're where we are what else can happen? The Highlighters aren't gonna stay floating forever. Tell me Phineas, what's gonna go down?"

"We'll fall." I whispered; how else could I reply to a monologue like that? Minutes ticked by; finally I broke the dreadful silence. "I'm gonna go get some cigarettes, I'll catch you later."

TTTT

On my way back to our apartment I was stopped by a hungry fan. He introduced himself as Jesse and eagerly offered me sex. I didn't hesitate, didn't feel any remorse for Baljeet Patel or Ferb Fletcher or any of the others. I bent the boy—maybe nineteen—over, and after starting me off with a blowjob I fucked him. With his nearly waist length brunette mane and vintage Motorhead t-shirt I couldn't say no. We made love—well a sorry sham of it—for a rather long period; by the time I neared our street the moon sat ripe in the sky. "Jeet!" I'd forgotten my keys "Jeet let me in" Nothing "Vanessa? Buford? Mason?" I stood in front of the locked door for what felt like eons. A frown creased my face when the first beautiful strains of Beethoven's 'Moonlight Sonata' started to emanate from the dark building. Nobody I knew listened or would listen to Classical music…save for possibly Ferb. Except there was no Ferb. "Come on" I snarled after knocking for a while. "Come the fuck on…"

There came a sound of unhinging lock, and then a chunk of light splashed me and the stairwell I stood on like water. Isabella's doe eyes were ringed in aging mascara, her hair of course sat in its ever perfect curls. "Hey Phin."

"I-Izzy? Where's Ferb?" Again I carelessly dismissed the person I was really faced with to inquire about the emerald Count. She gestured meekly to the living room which had its French Doors shut and record player on. Isabella looked exhausted, my words were far too cold; "Are you alright? Wasn't Scandinavia an amazing and bonding experience for the two of you?"

She buried indigo fingernails into her perm "Yeah it was until Ferb decided to run off half way through the month and leave me alone in that monstrous summer home he bought for a week." The glossy lips twisted "He returned in time to pack his shit and catch our flight home."

"What a gentlemen" I grinned in bitter victory, though my subconscious tugged for an answer as to where he'd gone for that week. "Do you think he'll see me?"

"Oh shut up Phinny" Izzy sneered "And I don't fucking know, he sure as hell won't let me in." With a bat of lengthened lashes she bolted into the depths of Buford's place.

Considering Isabella had gone I chose to open the French Doors without first asking Ferb if I was permitted too. That way she wouldn't see my innate fear of rejection. "Hello Ferb." He lay on the creased leather of a couch, slouched in a heroin stupor. The clothing he wore were black ebbed with gray and smothered in dirt, his hair—now past his collar bone—was also filth ridden and lackluster. He held a cigarette loosely between two fingers, a wine glass in the other. Beethoven poured from Baljeet's stereo at a ridiculously loud decibel. The hauntingly elfish face was caked in Corpse paint; bone white with ebony hollows accentuating sunken in, always bright eyes. A body. But you know how the age old saying goes; love is blind. What I realize in retrospect was a smack riddled schizophrenic I saw as Loki—the trickster God in Norse mythology and in Catholicism the elusive Angel of Death. "Isabella told me how you disappeared for the last week of your trip. Where did you go Ferb?" The question held far deeper meaning than it sounded; it was my pathetic self, prying for an answer as to where pre-Rock star Ferb was hidden away.

"I slept in a nineteenth century cemetery with newspaper as blankets. I buried the clothes I'm wearing now in a caved in grave. Here's a present." My sleep deprived and seriously Ecstasy addled mind could barely keep up with his sudden burst of frantic banter. Ferb handed me a wrinkled purple shoebox.

Upon opening it I met a gruesome site; lying delicately between folds of rosy tissue paper was the crudely sawed off pelt of a rat tied—maybe screwed—onto a makeshift inverted cross. The skin still attached to the fur had started to rot and in another corner was its' bleached skeleton. "What the fuck…"

"That's what you did to me by stealing all I've ever lived for Phin." Sick smile. At first I'd thought of the gift as some sort of bizarre rock n' roll initiation. To know he'd carefully calculated it all scared me to no end. Just how far into insanity had Ferb been pitched? "There's a CD in there too, I recorded my latest song in Norway. I'm going to sleep, goodbye." He stood—nearly falling several times—and left me to listen to his sonoroe; I had a funny feeling I knew what I'd soon hear.

"Never say goodbye" I mumbled in his wake "Because goodbye means going away, and going away is forgetting…" Of course trying to cage Ferb-to control what he said and how he said it-was impossible, even in my head. I turned Beethoven's 'Moonlight Sonata' off and jammed the gift CD in. Straight off—from its painstakingly slow acoustic strums—I was aware of what was playing. 'My Friend'; Ferb had perfected it in Scandinavia and left it for me as a twisted show of his love for Izzy. The worst part, I mused, was that I'd predicted exactly what was to come and even so my heart shredded into a trillion bits.

**Halloween 2009**

"YOU WANTED THEM, YOU'VE GOT THEM; THE FUCKING HIGHLIGHTERS!"

Buford, Baljeet and I walked on in sync holding hands. We took a fluid bow and grabbed our assorted instruments. My innards leapt into my throat; though I'd been before bigger crowds this one seemed particularly large. Mostly due to the infusion of the Lady Ivory with my peripheral vision, thus dwarfing the Shoreline Amphitheatre's gargantuan capacity. The venue held 6500 individuals, plus those who'd snuck in and lingered between seats or beyond any security guards view. Paul Sedgwick—whom we hadn't seen for months upon months—was there to asses our progress musically and as a band. That too made my stomach churn; we excelled in music as opposed to before but as a whole The Highlighters had become the biggest public farce of a dysfunctional family on the planet. Stylistically three of us hadn't changed all that much; Buford in cutoff black shorts and a Children of Bodom t-shirt, Jeet in a Poison wife beater and torn jeans with his blue bandana knotted into piecey black locks, myself sporting worn denims and one of Ferb's oversized grandma sweaters in a dried-blood-red hue.

Ferb tramped up to the microphone; falling about his whole way there. He'd really taken to wearing the Corpse Paint and ebony attire of Black Metal deities past. "Hello California!" Words a half assed jumble. "Now this show is particularly special to us, because the man who began it all; Mr. Paul Sedgwick is here! What I'm about to play isn't a Highlighters song, it was written by the late great Kurt Cobain and it's what first got us noticed. This one's for you Paul, what you give you get back!" He burst into Nirvana's 'In Bloom' and for a moment it was as if we were back at that tiny club on Halloween night 2006. God how things had differed back then, how his eyes had held such passion for more. Nearly three years beneath the spotlight shattered us like china. All his irises crooned were death. How unjust, twenty six and already he wanted to die. Why? Because the media were maggots biting our innards? Because Isabella Shapiro was a notorious succubus? No. My cerebrum expanded; it was because Ferb Fletcher was one of the most fucked up people on the planet and ascent into fame or not he would inevitably descend into insanity sooner or later.

We leisurely played through our usual line up; 'Two-Way Romeo', 'Sitting in a Car', 'D-Rive' amongst others. My hands had started to turn to jelly when I realized Ferb disappeared. Baljeet idly hit a few harmonics on his Les Paul, after fifteen minutes I wordlessly switched instruments with him; Ferb had took his Tele with him—wherever he'd gone. I glanced into the crowd; Isabella stood beaming up at us. Her jarred face was perfection; her clothing clung to all the right places. Heroin apathy became heroin rage in seconds. For awhile then I'd been screwing around with the chords to 'My Friend' while our protagonist was elsewhere, I'd managed to come up with a scratchy electric rendition but no lyrics. Tonight my anger would rear it's hideous head.

I leaned into the crowd "Princess has left the building ladies and gents. So I'm taking over, and I'm going to play you something called 'My Friend'" That title sounded too delicate, I decided to add a few syllables to the end; "You Cunt!" In the massive TV screens on either side of the stage I could recognize confusion slip onto both Jeet's and Buford's faces. I didn't care; they'd fall in with bass and drums or they wouldn't. I took a mustard yellow pick from my pocket and slammed out the opening.

"_LA, LA, LA, LA, LA, LA, LA, LA, LA, LA, Can't you see me?_

_'Cause I've got my eye on you._

_Can't you feel it?_

_Can't you feel that I feel it too?_

_I'm calling out to you my friend._

_'Cause this is a message of hate to you, my friend._

_Can't you just sense it?_

_The power of hate from me to you?_

_From me to you, mate,_

_From me to you and back again_

_I'm calling out to you, you cunt_

_'Cause this is a message of hate to you my friend."_

I improvised lyrics on the spot; they flowed from between my cracked lips. I stole Ferb's song, his languid words, and I twisted them into something nauseous and fucking hateful. Because oh-it hurt so much to see the smug smile on Isabella's face when she kissed him.

"_Ships in the ocean_

_Create a commotion_

_Can you feel this pain I feel for you?_

_Can't you see me?_

_'Cause I've got my eye on you_

_Can't you feel it?_

_Can't you feel that I feel it too?_

_Where are you friend?_

_I can't see you_

_I thought you was here_

_Friend_

_I'm calling out to you my friend _

_'Cause this is a message of hate to you_"

I glared straight into Izzy's round copper eyes. And she saw it reflected in my own jean-blue optics, all the agony, the hurt, the resentment.

"_My friend_"

With the final line Ferb burst onstage covered in what looked and smelt like blood. And judging by the copious amount that slicked him face to feet I imagined it to be pig blood. I got a sick mental image of Ferb Fletcher at the Shoreline Amphitheatre as Stephen King's Carrie on prom night. He wasn't beautiful, or haloed, or filled with stardust, or whatever any of those descriptions are that you're supposed to give people when they're too sad to give a fuck. When their tears are supposed to be gorgeous and their tragedy is supposed to punch you in the gut and wrench your heart. Ferb didn't look like any of that. He looked drained. Nothing came from the off kilter teeth or think pink orchid lips. I lost it. Sometimes not being in control is the most wonderful thing in the world. But sometimes it isn't. I thought of the dreams I'd been having; Tuesday night we were ballroom dancing and Thursday he was smoking and trying to tell me how it was okay because we'd only live once. Waking up from such reveries never ceased to snap a nerve or two. I remembered the ageless Oak we once sat beneath talking about Robert Johnson and the Delta Blues.

6500 people were still applauding us, if that wasn't something, what was? Bullshit, I mentally bruised myself. Because when it came down to it, to look into your best friend's eyes and see no will to live was far more important than any audience.

_**I'm calling out to you my friend**_

_**Cos' this is a message of love to you**_

_**I'm calling out to you my friend**_

_**Cos' this is a message of love to you**_

_**Ships in the ocean**_

_**Creating a motion**_

_**Oh can't you feel this pain**_

_**I feel for you**_

**"There he goes. One of God's own prototypes. A high-powered mutant of some kind never even considered for mass production. Too weird to live, and too rare to die." - Hunter. S. Thompson**


	28. Let's Do Some Living, After Love Dies

**Another update! I'm on a roll…well not really it's been awhile but shush. Anyways I honestly can't believe I've gotten to this poignant event in the story; you'll see as you read. I know the chapter is rather short but that's because there was nothing more to add. This event stands on its own and it needs to, adding another thousand words would wreck it. Please keep up the reviews, without them I would cease to write. Oh and don't worry, there will be like three more chapters containing much more detail than this one! **

**~~Mick~~!**

**Disclaimer: P&F and Wild Horses by The Rolling Stones are not my property. **

_**Childhood living is easy to do **_

_**The things you wanted I bought them for you **_

_**Graceless lady, you know how I am **_

_**You know I can't let you slide through my hands **_

_**Wild horses couldn't drag me away **_

_**Wild, wild horses, couldn't drag me away **_

_**I watched you suffer a dull aching pain **_

_**Now you've decided to show me the same **_

_**But no sweet, vain exits or offstage lines **_

_**Could make me feel bitter or treat you unkind **_

_**Wild horses couldn't drag me away **_

_**Wild, wild horses, couldn't drag me away**_

**November 2009**

"Ferb, hey Ferb. Listen, I know what I did was fucking disgusting and I don't deserve to come in but…" My already stricken voice trailed off; through the thin Hotel-room door I heard a gushing noise. "Ferb?" I jiggled the gold plated doorknob; locked, of course. "Shit, shit, shit!" Panicked I ran to the lobby, offhandedly wondering if the girl at her shiny desk would notice my drugged up paranoia. "Hi, I really need an extra key to Ferb Fletcher's suite on the twelfth floor." I swore beneath my breath, emptying my jeans pockets. "I don't have any fucking identification with me, but I'm P-"

"Phineas Flynn" She grinned doggedly and I thought about what having sex with her might be like "From The Highlighters, I'm really not supposed to give out room keys but for an autograph…"

"Anything" She tossed me black sharpie and then unhooked her bra; pink lace. I scrawled my signature across the left breast of it. "There you go; maybe I'll come back later and see you"

She looked up at me with dark blue eyes "I'd like that." Before the seductress could do any more damage I took off.

TTT

I realized at the door that my hands were jelly and in turn had to fumble for a few moments until I propped the entrance open. All the main lights were off. No, not just off; every light bulb had been unscrewed and crushed into the floor. I noticed this when my tattered Vans crunched on a piece of glass. Candle smoke hit my nostrils and filled them with exotic scents; there were rose petals on the bed and the bathroom door was shut with the telltale yellow of a lamp flooding out from it. "Ferb?" Surprisingly he hadn't completely closed the washroom, I peeked my head around the corner. "FERB!"

He lay in a tub of bloodied water; both wrists slashed to ribbons and with one lifted about to plunge his hunting knife into his throat. "You shouldn't be here"

"Why are you doing this?" I whispered, moving towards the bath.

"Get any closer and I'll do it" Ferb snarled, glittering irises flickering to the blade he still toted.

"Don't tempt me Ferb" I sneered right back, my features softened in a heartbeat however. "Please, just put it down. You have every reason to live. Money, fame, a girl."

"If you think that's why life is worth living Phin, I've seriously misjudged your bloody character." The disapproving, smoldering glare broke me.

"I don't think that's living at all, I just can't watch you die." I flung my hair into my face, hoping to cover the onslaught of tears. "I need you Ferb, fuck Baljeet and Buford and Vanessa and being famous. Only you"

The expression on Ferb's face changed drastically, from skeptical to something foreign I'd never seen grace his lips before. "Phin…" Before he could finish his sentence the radio which had been softly playing in the background caught his attention.

"**This is Carla Lane on 108.5 Thrash FM, its 12 o'clock here in Los Angeles California. Now on my break I was talking to a coworker and found out that the rumors stating The Highlighters may cancel future concerts is indeed true. Fans are furious; some have even begun taking action; vandalizing concert halls and such. Of course we're all thinking; why the cancellations? According to rhythm guitarist Baljeet Patel the answer is simply Ferb Fletcher. It's not hard to believe, even without hearing Patel's words we all would've assumed it anyways. On the subject of Fletcher; he's a wreck. Will The Highlighters ever tour again? Or release another album? Considering Fletcher's various overdoses and controversial stage appearances…" **

I slammed off the console before it could inflict any more damage. "They don't fucking know who they're talking about."

He waved the knife in front of his face for a few seconds, and then with a shaking fist dropped it onto the linoleum. Ferb switched positions; he wrapped his torn arms about his gawky legs and buried his face in them. It was the first time I'd seen him bare of Corpse-Paint in ages. His spine popped out the entire way down, barely coated in milky white skin. "Come in Phinny, and turn on the shower. I want it to rain" I complied nervously; first stripping to nothing and then letting hot water dance with the emerald tendrils of his hair. I got into the bathtub behind him so that he was sitting in the fetal position between my legs. In the months we'd grown apart I'd quit tracking how thin he was. The anorexia had worsened; he must've been 100 pounds, maybe less. I let my frigid hands knead his back. "Mmm"

Finally I allowed my eyelids to flutter "Do you want to go to bed?" Ferb nodded mutely, I helped him to his feet. I hardly believed how tall he was in comparison to his weight. I hopped into striped boxer shorts "You have anything to wear?"

"Yeah" Lithe fingers pulled on purple silk ladies underwear. I slipped under black blankets; scattering rose petals haphazardly and blowing out several candles while I was at it. Ferb extinguished the remaining flames and pressed his chest to mine, I fixed my fingers into the notches of his bones. "Goodnight Phineas"

"Goodnight Ferb" After a while I noticed our breathing synchronized. Both stomachs caving and falling in pace with the other. I pressed my nose into his ivory and he didn't balk. "Goodnight"

TTTT

"Phinny, Phinny" I was awoken by Ferb's quickly spoken words. Pink, orange and violet light poured through the large glass balcony doors. 6:00 read the fancy digital clock sitting on a lacquered nightstand. Dawn had settled. "Phin, I want to draw you. I want to draw you with the rising sun hitting your hair" Though the proposition seemed bizarre it didn't phase me; this was Ferb after all. I merely nodded and threw my well rested—for once—body onto the floor. Ferb gathered a package of art pencils and a bundle of crisp off-white papers. At six in the morning, more than any other instance, Ferb looked glowing. He'd obviously showered and now donned a pinstriped suit, rouge lipstick and charcoal around his greens.

"Where do you want me to sit?" I yawned, digging a hand into my greasy locks. He shoved a cup of steaming coffee and Brandy into my palms, and then led me outside. November in California was never a brutal time of year.

He seated himself on a yellowing patio chair "Right, hmm I think I'd like you to just sit against the railing and look skywards." I did as I was told,—no surprise there—adjusting to the slight sting of fresh air slapping my cheeks. Without another word Ferb started to sketch, his eyebrows angled themselves downwards in concentration. It wasn't hard to lose my irises to the clouds; they floated by in tumultuous pastel waves. Suddenly though I was slammed with gut punching agony and I found my eyes drawn to Ferb. Because I didn't hate him. I was never able to, even though he was the one who left me all alone. He was the one who made me this empty casing. He was the one, the person I couldn't force myself to let go. I didn't hate him. If anything, I just wanted to be with him. His facial quirks were impeccable in golden halo. I felt the tears sliding over what was left of the rounds of my face. "Phin? What's wrong Phin?" But he knew. I fled into the hotel room; panting, weeping. Ferb followed; wearing a concerned expression that caught me off guard. "Phin? What's wrong?"

"I LOVE YOU" Strings of mucus and spittle flew from my mouth as I finally screamed the three things I'd always wanted to say. "I fucking love you. And I have to tell you because after you sent me that letter from Norway it felt like…I don't know, like I was hollowing myself out. I started filling Baljeet's head with more false hope, I started using copious amounts of narcotics, and I don't know. It felt like maybe if I ruined myself a little bit, if I made myself a little bit edgier, maybe you'd look at me again. That didn't work; all I ended up doing is wrecking myself."

"No." Ferb said almost hesitantly. "No. Please Phin don't say that" He seized my jaw gently and tipped my head so the puddles of my irises sloshed to meet his. It was instantaneous; he was trying to devour me from the inside out. Mashing my mouth up against his with tongue and teeth and saliva. I was raw and lost and it all still eluded me.

I retaliated; capturing his chin in my hands, all the frenetic energy bouncing around inside me calming, just for a second. When I looked at him, jewel-eyes wide and luminous in the light, so beyond tortured and wanting, I could not help it. I pulled his mouth harder against mine, and I made the kiss so slow that I felt like everything between us that had shattered over the years mended in an instant. I wanted him, all of him, and I wasn't sure how to contain the feeling. For the first time in my life, I didn't have to.

_**I know I dreamed you a sin and a lie **_

_**I have my freedom, but I don't have much time **_

_**Faith has been broken, tears must be cried **_

_**Let's do some living after love dies**_

_**Wild horses couldn't drag me away **_

_**Wild, wild horses, we'll ride them some day **_

_**Wild horses couldn't drag me away **_

_**Wild, wild horses, we'll ride them some day**_

**"The world is changed because you are made of ivory and gold. The curves of your lips rewrite history." — Oscar Wilde**


	29. Feels So Good To Feel Again

**Oh my Christ! I'm so sorry I haven't updated in FOREVER. But alas I will never give up my baby Highway Chile. I was iffy about this chapter at first but I quite like how it turned out. I've been very busy, I did Acid yesterday and my oh my was it a trip! I recommend it only for the very strong of will aha. Please continue reviewing, you're my life blood! I love yous!**

**~~Mick~~!**

**Disclaimer: Phineas and Ferb STILL aren't mine nor is Verse Chorus Verse by Nirvana**

_**Think I'll just give in**_

_**Taking medication**_

_**Till my stomach's full**_

_**Neither side is sacred**_

_**Crawling in the hole**_

_**The grass is greener**_

_**Over here**_

_**You're the fog that**_

_**Keeps it clear**_

_**Re-inventing**_

_**What we knew**_

_**Taken time is**_

_**All but true**_

_**You're the reason**_

_**I feel pain**_

_**Feels so good to**_

_**Feel again**_

**Late November 2009**

There was something in the air; an electrical current cording Ferb and I together from across the room. I sat with Baljeet on the couch in Buford's place. His hair was backcombed, sticky black. The clothing painfully Glam Rock; Scorpions t-shirt with a hacked neckline, chains, torn jeans and a leather vest. On my other side there was Vanessa in a clingy indigo dress, she had her hair in a glossy chocolate bun; quite the hardbody. Buford looked from Ferb to I indignantly from his armchair. He who I adored had Isabella placed on his boney lap but he kept sending my eye rolls and I smirked back every time. It felt good to watch her condescendingly; no jealousy, no hate, just a pin drop of pity.

"Oi, get to work on writin' riffs or something" Mason scoffed, peeking his head out of the kitchen where he was brewing tea. _How positively British _I sighed heartlessly in my mind.

"You want to go work on some lyrics Phin?" Ferb cocked a brow and smiled impishly behind Izzy's raven perm.

"Yeah, alright" I replied as offhandedly as I could; some eagerness showed through and Jeet sent me a look.

"Well if you guys are gonna do that—we're obviously not invited—want to head down to the studio and lay down some rhythm and percussion Buford?" The Indian spoke weakly; though he was an asshole sometimes I genuinely did feel terrible for cheating mercilessly on him. The drummer nodded his blue-black head. "You girls can come, Mason you'll let us in right?"

"Yeah, yeah. I don't give a fuck so long as you're all actually doing something for the fucking band" Our managers' beady eyes flicked about us. After Jeet and Buford stood Vanessa cattily strutted towards them; Isabella did so with much more hesitance. She hated the notion of Ferb and I alone; since our reuniting at the beginning of the month everybody had been rather tense.

They were gone quickly and silently.

TTTT

"Oh fuck" I breathed; his ridiculously thick mouth opened up, his crooked teeth dug into my throat. We really did write for awhile; we even got some killer songs down. But soon the kissing began, I found it odd that in the few weeks we'd seen eachother we'd never had sex. "Ferb" I pulled his face upwards.

"Yeah?" Another school-boy grin, my knees went weak and my stomach flipped.

"Fuck me" The words dripped from the depths of my core. He stared into me evenly, quizzically. "I've never been bottom before but I want you to fuck me. Pop my…" I heatedly laughed "cherry?"

"I don't fucking think I can do it sober" Though he'd meant in nonchalantly I felt a little torn. "Care for some smack?"

"Sure" I shrugged, rubbing my fingers through the fibers of his falling-apart Mayhem shirt. "Want me to shoot you up?" Ferb nodded, smiled and prepared the heroin. He sucked the golden liquid into his syringe and passed me it. "Where do you want it?"

"Right here kiddo" Kiddo? My mind raced but I managed to stop the thoughts long enough to notice where he'd pointed. His neck; the elegant un-marred alabaster skin.

"Are you sure? Have you ever done it before?" I frowned unsurely and toyed with the needle between my palms. Ferb handed me his dusty black leather belt to tie him off and again nodded eagerly. "…Al-alright" I wrapped the cord around his esophagus, jerked it tight, winced and jammed the slim silver tip into the biggest vein I could see. It pulled up blood right off the bat, so I quickly slipped the drug into him before I could lose my will. Ferb gasped and leaned back, his body contracted in an orgasmic looking throe. "Do me before you get too high!" I melted more heroin onto a spoon then into a cotton ball and brought it into the syringe. Ferb clumsily tied my upper arm off and gave me a long, delectable hit. Instant pleasure, I let out an endless sigh and allowed my head to fall against his cheek. Only; the sudden drug-induced numbness wasn't so lethargic as it'd been before, I felt every emotion pump through my nerve endings. I-I was feeling.

He carefully placed every piece of heroin-paraphernalia back into its' tiny black box and then kissed me. "I want you Phin" The slur came; he peeled my perspiring wool sweater off and ran his flaming tongue down my chest and to my treasure trail. There was no pause; off went my jean cutoffs. His languid fingers found their way around my boner and started to pump, I threw my hair away from my face with mouth agape. A day ago we'd done nothing more than touch lips and now his mouth played on the tip of my dick; tonguing salty pre-cum with a wild expression.

"Fuck, Ferb" I yanked his head away from my member "Take off your clothes" I'd never before seen somebody look so terrified to be exposed. I wondered if he was this self conscious when he fucked Isabella or a faceless groupie. "You know, I've seen you naked a billion times."

"I-it's different" The tiny movements of his mouth—tongue hitting teeth and a string of saliva strung down his chin. "It's different this time Phinny" I breathed in a palpable line of air; tousled hair, glittering jade eyes set in two mink hollows. Different. A torso clustered with bones, tipped by delicate but veiny arms; the caved in stomach flowered into protruding hips, an emerald treasure trail. He was incredibly tiny and afraid—a child, a nothing. How could the beast on stage be such a terror?

"You're beautiful" I wished there were more words than two things so seemingly insignificant. He seized my waist and flipped me over, spitting on his hands and rubbing them over his dick at the same time. "Just—do it, please"

"It might hurt" I couldn't have cared less; after a moment of hesitation he thrust into me. Red and white bursts of light exploded on the lids of my closed eyes. A shot of agony that stayed for awhile. Once we'd found a rhythm however the pain went away, I whimpered and threw my hair back. "Are you alright?"

"Y-yes" I managed to stammer, it felt so good I could barely hold myself up. Ferb dug his fingernails into my spine, moaning himself—a lyrical sound so close to his singing. We'd been going at it for around half an hour—blurring together at the edges and slowly dripping into each other. "Fuck, fuck I'm going to cum" Ferb pulled out and before anything pressed his full lips to my soaking tip; I could not possibly hold myself together any longer. Thick white sperm coated his face, hanging between his teeth and marring his sunken cheeks.

"I'm pretty close too" With that he went back to mercilessly fucking me. "Can I cum inside of you?" I didn't reply only gasped and nodded. Ferb's hips hit my rear sharply, he let out a little groan and I felt warmth inside me I'd not ever fathomed. We fell in a pile onto Buford's bed. Everything was alright; we had time to waste, time to heal, time to spend together trying to stop figuring out where everything went so horribly wrong and start trying to make things right for real. And it didn't even matter. He was my best friend. We'd been together since the sandbox, and we'd be together till the grave. I'd make sure of it. "I love you Phineas"

I stared into the endless irises. "I love you too" It was the bravest I'd seen him in ages. It was like looking at the old Ferb, the one who never cared what people thought of him, as long as he was doing what he wanted. His breathing steadied, slowed, and he began to drift away. I was still wide awake, and starting to get it. I was beginning to understand that the way I remembered people isn't actually who they are. My memories were clear, picturesque, and perfect. People weren't. People never can be. Look at Ferb. Look at me. We were flawed. He was a narcissist. He didn't know which way was up half the time. And his moral compass was so fucking black and white that he forgot sometimes that real life comes in too many shades of gray; that was one thing that never changed. I forgave him for alienating me as a friend, and maybe that was stupid. I should have punched some sense into him the first chance I had, and reminded him that what he thought was right was actually messed up beyond belief. But that's where my imperfections came in. I was a coward. I didn't like to think it was true, but it was. When I had the chance to keep a hold on my best friend, I let it go. Because I wanted him to realize the injustice of it on his own. Because I wanted to be selfish and victimized and finally get the attention I thought I was missing from him. And maybe another of my defects was that I took too long to let go of that idea, or maybe I didn't take long enough. Maybe I should have let him suffer from that one mistake forever. I didn't know. I was confused and fucked up too. In my dreams we sunned beneath the old Oak in Danville, the ceaseless halls of infinity. That's what mattered.

_**Neither side is sacred**_

_**No one wants to win**_

_**Feeling so sedated**_

_**But I can't give in**_

_**Taking medication**_

_**Till my stomach's full**_

_**Feeling so sedated**_

_**When I'm in my home**_

_**The grass is greener**_

_**Over here**_

_**You're the fog that**_

_**Keeps it clear**_

_**Re-inventing**_

_**What we knew**_

_**Taken time is**_

_**Weird but true**_

_**You're the reason**_

_**I feel pain**_

_**Feels so good to**_

_**Feel again**_

_**Oh**_

**"It is sinful to cherish those whom heaven has doomed to destruction."-Horace Walpole**


	30. Behind Blue Eyes

**Yes, I updated rather quickly. Yay! Oh so I've gotten many long and helpful reviews. If you're wondering why I haven't responded personally it's because there is something wrong with my internet and it won't load when I try to reply. I don't know why, dial up just does that. Anyways, agh, we are so close to the end that I am terrified. But not really, Free Bird is still definitely happening and I hope you'll all still read it. Please keep your praise, insights and tips coming! I appreciate them dearly!**

**~~Mick~~!**

**Disclaimer: P&F and Behind Blue Eyes by The Who are not mine! **

_**No one knows what it's like **_

_**To be the bad man **_

_**To be the sad man **_

_**Behind blue eyes **_

_**No one knows what it's like **_

_**To be hated **_

_**To be fated **_

_**To telling only lies **_

_**But my dreams **_

_**They aren't as empty **_

_**As my conscience seems to be **_

_**I have hours, only lonely **_

_**My love is vengeance **_

_**That's never free **_

_**No one knows what it's like **_

_**To feel these feelings **_

_**Like I do **_

_**And I blame you **_

_**No one bites back as hard **_

_**On their anger **_

_**None of my pain and woe **_

_**Can show through**_

**December 2009**

"Phinny?" I laid alongside Baljeet one slightly colder winter morning. I didn't want to wake up, not beside him at least. "Phin?" He sighed, prodded my naked spine with a honey-brown digit. "Oh for fucks sake" Deep purple curtains swung open, forcing sunlight into my eyes.

"_What _Jeet?" Having been awake the entire time my voice came out clear and icy.

"D-did you maybe want to do something today? Go to the Sunset strip and hit up a club or come to the studio with me and lay down some bass on my tracks?" Irises lit up—warm hazelnut with a splash of olive. I felt completely bathed in sickness, because the last thing I wanted to do was spend time with Baljeet—my _boyfriend_. That hint of green in his optics only spurred my passion for another.

"Jeet…I don't know if I can today."

His demeanor was defeated, crestfallen, and I knew he knew. "That's what you've said for the past month Phineas. Can you be honest here, what's really going on?"

"Nothing" I snapped "Ferb and I are just finally clicking musically and lyrically. Like some fucked up Lennon and McCartney or Jagger and Richards. You can't screw this up for me." Even as I spoke I realized how brash and moronic and insensitive I'd been. The whole time I was hung-up over Ferb and he hated me who _was _there? Baljeet. All the tour-nights I'd curled up on the floor and wept, who'd held me? Baljeet. He'd given me his entire world and what had I done but crumple it like a failed poem and throw it in the trash. "I'm sorry Jeet; I'm a real monster aren't I?"

"Forget it." He pushed his gawky legs into a pair of glam leather pants and turned away. I sat in bed for awhile after that encounter and thought; trying to sort my priorities wasn't an easy task. Maybe for some the decision would be made without hesitance: for me it was impossible. Too nice to break Jeet's heart but in the process of cheating wasn't I doing just that? I'd loved Ferb for centuries, even my Indian beau was aware. Having sex with Baljeet had become a chore, not that he was unattractive; again, on normal standards he was probably the best looking of us all. It just wasn't there though. My heart was nailed into the palm of The Highlighters' poster boy, with his spidery fingers all wrapped in the veins.

I wondered if Ferb was in the living room or the bathroom or the ocean thinking the same about Isabella. Probably not; he always knew exactly what he wanted and how to get it. Despite the deep lust, amour and adoration I held for him there was also a load of envy. For the short duration I'd been The Highlighters' brightest star I'd gotten a taste for fame, and it had come time to do something radical.

TTTT

"I hate the rain" Ferb and I stood huddled in an alleyway on our way to the studio. A storm had broken out and we both looked like wet rats. He of the jaded face not so much; that goes without saying however.

"Psh" Ferb swung his head skywards; a strip of clown-white and elegant giraffe neck appeared, out from the massive lapels of his trench coat. "Live a little Phin, let's dance!" He seized my hands and spun me about, I started laughing uncontrollably. My lips contorted in the biggest, most carefree grin; real happiness felt foreign and perfect. My beat up Vans were such a contrast to his leather dress shoes, the red to green and blue to emerald of our hair and eyes so strange. "I don't give a fuck who see's us Phinny; this is all that really matters!" To witness Ferb Fletcher letting loose and acting 1000 years younger than he was caused my optic nerves to quake a little.

"I'm sure the paparazzi will take this the wrong way…" I grinned coyly at the singer and clenched a fist through his hair—now long enough to brush his nipples. He'd shed the grungy-hippy-pretty-boy look and replaced it with the want to be a corpse. We were quite the pair; two boys cavorting about in an alleyway. One a freckled and grey skinned imp in jean shorts and a Polo; the other tall, pale and rake-thin wearing an ankle length black leather trench coat with a bullet shell belt cinched about the jutting hips.

"Fuck the paparazzi!" Ferb screamed at the top of his lungs "FUCK FAME! FUCK EVERYTHING! EAT CHILDREN! PROMOTE ABORTION! BURN DOWN CHURCHES!" We stumbled against eachother, both bursting with amused tears. He dipped his lovely face down and planted a passionate, tongue filled kiss on my mouth. I didn't hesitate to respond; further digging my fingers amongst the silky strands and pushing my chest into his. Icy rainwater sliced rivets between our steamy lips but never parted them, it coated out clothing and everything else. We kissed deeply against the alley wall for what seemed like hours before the thought of recording reentered out minds.

TTTT

"**FUCK FAME! FUCK EVERYTHING! EAT CHILDREN! PROMOTE ABORTION! BURN DOWN CHURCHES!"**

**An insider review with Jayne Cook**

**They've been controversial since their rise to fame in 2006 but new information suggests a scandal that goes above and beyond all boundaries formerly crossed. The Highlighters have been accused of serious drug use, homosexuality, promiscuity, self destruction and a list of other things. The main target of these claims is-of course-lead singer and guitarist Ferb Fletcher, who at age twenty six is already the voice of a generation. This new scandal however involves both Fletcher and twenty four year old step brother/Highlighters bassist Phineas Flynn. The two were spotted standing in an alleyway on their way to Geffen Records on December 6th. Normally this would cease to be alarming, only passerby's report that Fletcher and Flynn were dancing about madly, Ferb then decided so scream profanities; "FUCK FAME! FUCK EVERYTHING! EAT CHILDREN! PROMOTE ABORTION! BURN DOWN CHURCHES!" Already an anarchic figure Fletcher only digs his reputation a deeper hole. To put the cherry on top the boys allegedly shared passionate kisses after the exclamation. Truth or rumor? Let the photo below make the decision for you. **

The fucking article came accompanied with a large color photo of Ferb leaning over me—hands on either side of my body against the brick wall, kissing. "Did anybody see this yet?" My voice bubbled shakily.

Mason was the only one in the apartment, he took the California Sun newspaper from my grasp and a mocking smile broke out on his lips. "Would explain why Jeet and Izzy were talking so furiously together earlier. What the bloody hell have you gotten yourself into mate?"

"Oh fuck…" I slammed my forehead into my clammy palm. "But-they-they have to understand. It's not what it seems, things are different."

"Whatever you say Phin." Mason passed me a lit Dunhill—real English cigarettes—and rolled his eyes. "I'm sure the press is having a hay day over this one." My stare was empty; this was it. That shock of publicity I'd wanted; well this was it. Except I didn't want _this_. I wished Ferb and I could escape to some Scandinavian paradise and live out our years. We were all too deep in though, had been for a long while. Without saying another word I stalked away, picking up a couple of magazines on the way to the bathroom to shoot up. Our kissing forms were on the front cover of Times, Hit Parader, and 16. Only a few days had passed but 16 included and interview with Candace and mom, Times one with dad and Hit Parader one with…Ferb? Maybe that'd been the interview he'd talked about the day before. I decided to sit and read all of them before I nodded out.

**16 Magazine Presents an in Depth Interview with Linda and Candace Flynn:**

**Ami Smiths: I'm here with Linda and Candace Flynn. The former is mother of Phineas Flynn and step mother to Ferb Fletcher, the latter blood sister to Phineas and step sister to Ferb. What we all want the scoop on is if the boys' sudden attraction to eachother was in the cards for long or not. Let's find out! Have a seat ladies. **

**Linda Flynn: Thank you. **

**AS: Not a problem. Alright, to begin! Has your relationship with the boys been close in their rise to rock stardom? **

**LF: Not really, I've kept in contact with Phineas some but even then barely. **

**Candace Flynn: Baljeet and I have texted for years now and that hasn't changed but my contact with Phineas and Ferb dwindled when they came to Los Angeles to record their first album. **

**AS: In regards to the boys, how _have _they changed?**

**LF: Phineas—, who used to be the cherry bomb of the family, has seemingly become nondescript in the shadow of Ferb's fame. Whereas Ferb was forever the studious and silent type turned charismatic. **

**CF: Well when we went and visited them I was the only one who got to see Ferb. Though I agree that Phin has lost his spark Ferb is extinguishing him. When I saw him he was laying in bed looking like a cancer patient. I'm not sure what he's done to himself—perfect little A plus Ferb—but I hope he snaps back out of it. **

**AS: And now the question we've all been prying an answer for; what are your reactions to the alleged relationship between the two? **

**LF: It's—it's wrong. When Phineas and Baljeet started to…date I suppose you'd call it I was taken aback but not disgusted. And you know, as much as I love my boys their relationship is incestual. Maybe not by blood but they grew up as brothers and to tear that apart in such a way is terrible. It will end in tears. This whole thing will. **

**CF: I don't even know what to say about it. My two brothers are in a relationship, can that really be love? Is it just a publicity stunt? Not to mention neither of them are available—as far as I know Phineas is still with Baljeet and Ferb with Isabella. It isn't right. **

I flicked my Zippo out and lit the page aflame; Ferb wouldn't see this. But I guessed he already had—what if doubt had been instilled in him? I cringed but chose to save his article for last. Next was Dad's say in Times. Scanned through the pointless courtesy blabber every journalist went through until it came to the crucial question about Ferb and I.

**Lawrence Fletcher: I didn't raise them like this. The Fletcher/Flynn household was one with good moral standards and conservative values. Sure Linda and I let them have fun but not like this. Somewhere down the line we lost the two of them to the vacuum we call show business. That's all it is; another thing to draw attention to The Highlighters. I can see it in every photo of Phineas' eyes that he's tired of the fame. But of course it's my blood son who causes all the riot; Ferb. How has he become such an icon? A snaky homo-erotic new age Jim Morrison. It shames me that they're in such shambles. This "relationship" as the media calls it, is nothing. I don't believe that brothers can be in love—really related or not. I hope that Phineas and Ferb realize that; before something bad happens. **

I lit that one on fire too, tossing it onto the swishing tile floors with the almost nonexistent 16. With shaking hands and heavily lidded optics I held Hit Parader. Before flipping to Ferb's feature article I again analyzed our picture; in a lovers embrace. How could our entire family deny the electricity?

There was a snapshot of Ferb in the margin; his angular face framed in shocking green wisps that were no longer layers but a great length in the fashion of Per Ohlin, Varg Vikernes and all those Black Metal gods he bowed down to. His skin was bone white; cheeks sucked in to leave massive gray hollows and the lips—also ivory—parted in a suggestive way. Deep black crevices resided beneath the big green eyes; accentuated by his velveteen lashes. He was beautiful; not a Greek god come to earth like Morrison, not a tiny thing like Cobain but a mix of all that was great in every tragic dying star.

**Ferb Fletcher Says it All**

**Bobby Fleck: He's the idol of about every Rock and Metal loving teenager on the planet. Poet, singer, lead guitarist, Vogue model and just about every other thing you could dream of being Ferb Fletcher is twenty six and has it all. The controversial boy has agreed to sit in for an interview with Hit Parader; his first interview in months. Make yourself comfortable Mr. Fletcher.**

**Ferb Fletcher: It's just fucking Ferb. **

**BF: Pardon me. So a lot has been said about you for the whole of 2009. A lot has been said about you since 2006 in fact. Not too many people can keep themselves in the spotlight for going on four years Ferb. How have you done it?**

**FF: I've done nothing. It just proves how the public lusts for things that aren't there. **

**BF: Nothing? Not to say you're wrong but I would hardly say you've done nothing. Between the drug scandals, homosexuality, edgy performances—actually downright insane concerts with you shredding your wrists open, when you disappeared to Scandinavia for a month with Isabella Shapiro, and oh God I could go on for hours naming different incidents. **

**FF: If I laid out the entire expanse of your life and publicized each and every piece of dirty laundry I'm sure your history would be just as—if not more—impressive than mine Bobby. **

**BF: I am nothing but a journalist; you're a catalyst, a revolutionary, the voice of a generation that has nobody else to speak up for them. You've been compared to the likes of Jim Morrison, Kurt Cobain, Sid Vicious and—in your Metal turn—to Per Ohlin and Varg Vikernes. You can't deny that. **

**FF: No I can't, nor will I deny such dreamy compliments. I am nothing more than a lost little girl in the middle of the Nevada desert at sunset.**

**BF: But back to what the people really want to know. You are still in a relationship with Rolling Stone journalist Isabella Shapiro, and yet photos of you and Phineas Flynn—your step brother—have appeared _everywhere_. What do you have to say about that?**

**FF: There's so much to say. So many long, lazy summer days spent under our old Oak in Danville. So many completely mental plans come to life; we became Siamese twins in High School. We never drifted apart, never fucked one another over. The single thing that wrecked Phin and I was fame and the separation made me realize—maybe made both of us realize—how much we truly mean to eachother. I've read all the articles interviewing my father and Candace and my step mother. None of them believe this is just. But, mom, dad, Candace? Phinny and I are the only real thing's left in the universe. There is nothing truer. I am deeply in love with Phineas Flynn. I always have been. **

I was in tears by the end of the sentence and could no longer read. I knew that I had to make it public that I felt the exact same way and didn't give a fuck what anybody had to say about it.

TTTT

"How _could _you Phin?" Baljeet's round gold cheeks were streaked with tear crevices.

"I'm sorry Jeet. But" I cupped his shoulder in my clammy palm "Don't say you didn't know. When you got into this with me, all the things I said, the way I acted. Just—don't say you were blissfully ignorant of where my heart's always been."

He curled his lush red lips into a sneer "That doesn't change a fucking thing." I parted my mouth to speak and Jeet silenced me with a fist to the teeth. He started to pommel me, knee me, kick me with booted feet.

TTTT

Ferb splashed warm water over me as I sat in the bath tub. He caressed my cuts and bruises lightly, trailing toothpick fingertips until they reached my jaw line. "Least you're not the only one" I smiled limply; Isabella had gotten Buford to tear down Ferb after she verbally raped him. My wounds were slightly worse, I fancied it was because Baljeet had done the ass-kicking himself rather than opt for another to do so for him. He'd released pure, raw heartbreak upon my unscathed body and I had felt its everlasting wrath. So be it. I'd been heartbroken for long enough that a physical weakening meant nothing when my emotions were bursting in flowing red flowers from every blood tunnel.

After bathing and 'doctoring' ourselves—better known as shooting up—Ferb and I retired to yellowing sheets. "Goodnight Ferb."

He pressed his cheek to my forehead "Goodnight Phin" But I didn't sleep for a good while; watching his eyelashes flutter in butterfly spasms was enough.

_**But my dreams **_

_**They aren't as empty **_

_**As my conscience seems to be **_

_**I have hours, only lonely **_

_**My love is vengeance **_

_**That's never free **_

_**When my fist clenches, crack it open **_

_**Before I use it and lose my cool **_

_**When I smile, tell me some bad news **_

_**Before I laugh and act like a fool **_

_**If I swallow anything evil **_

_**Put your finger down my throat **_

_**If I shiver, please give me a blanket **_

_**Keep me warm, let me wear your coat **_

_**No one knows what it's like **_

_**To be the bad man **_

_**To be the sad man **_

_**Behind blue eyes**_

**"You said that I remind you of yourself tomorrow."-Kurt Cobain**


	31. His Songs Of Darkness And Disgrace

**I can't believe it, after this there are only two chapters left. The prospect of this both terrifies and pleases me; I'm glad I've finally almost went fully through with a story, but I don't want to lose my baby. I've poured so much of my soul into Highway Chile it's pathetic, never once have I considered giving up writing this. I love and adore your reviews and I apologize if I rarely reply, I have dial up internet and it doesn't fly with my fanfiction profile all the time. Please leave your comments and thoughts and I hope you all enjoy!**

**~~Mick~~!**

**Disclaimer: Phin and Ferb and Lady Stardust by David Bowie don't belong to the likes of me!**

_**People stared at the makeup on his face**_

_**Laughed at his long black hair, his animal grace**_

_**The boy in the bright blue jeans**_

_**Jumped up on the stage**_

_**And lady stardust sang his songs**_

_**Of darkness and disgrace**_

_**And he was alright, the band was all together**_

_**Yes he was alright, the song went on forever**_

_**Yes he was awful nice**_

_**Really quite out of sight**_

_**And he sang all night long**_

**January 2010**

"Oh my God, oh my God, no" Corpse paint drizzled across his elfish face, knees—clad in shiny hair-Metal black spandex pants—pulled up to his hollow chest and wrists slashed. Ferb was again the self destructive wreck he'd always been inside. I nearly dropped the hash cupcake I'd been bringing to him; January 13th was his birthday after all.

"Ferb…what's wrong?" I plopped down next to him, started to stroke his bloody arms.

"I—I can't do this anymore." His lace like lips were so beautiful; opened slightly, with tears hanging off the ends and his tongue hitting his sharp canines. "I have everything I've ever dreamed of but I'm still not happy Phineas. Why aren't I happy? WHY?" He snatched the cupcake from my fingers and ground it into the bathroom mirror. When that came out uneventful and anticlimactic he picked up his Zippo and whipped it at the same spot; glass shattered everywhere. I felt a patter of shards hit my face like rain. He reveled in the agony as blood bubbled in tiny spots all over his cheeks.

"Well what makes you unhappy most, what're you always thinking?" I tried to pick the glass from my wounds but they were stuck in there like little bullets.

He shot me a glare; not because he despised me but because he himself was a wriggling ball of negativity. "Everything. I cannot do a bloody thing and enjoy it. I hate my fans, I hate playing music, I hate poetry. Life has lost its' every-glowing luster. All I ever wanted to do was experience; experience everything there was. And now that I have I'm still restless only there's nothing that I want. It's a massive loop, a fucking acidic merry-go-round."

I was awe-struck. How could I retort to something like that? What more was there really to say? Ferb was tired of being alive and I couldn't give him any reason to think optimistically; because there was nothing. Having Ferb admit his eternal love to me was enough to make my subconscious soar, but he could never escape. Oh how I'd held him and kissed his forehead through the torrents of tears in the past month. He couldn't figure himself out, didn't want to be alone with his insides, and hated himself for the whole ordeal. "I-I wish I could help more."

"Yeah" He looked at the blank, tiled wall through lazily lidded eyes; mouth in a tight wavering line. "So do I"

An awkward silence loomed over our heads. "I'm so sorry Ferb"

"I'm twenty seven Phin." The dark-light irises met mine. "You know what that means."

I cocked a worried brow "Do I?"

"It's three years from being thirty, that's what it is Phinny. I don't think I'm going to make it." Ferb had said those words at every birthday since twenty, only this time the phrase was strangled with a foreign hollowness. As if he were a casket filled with sand; heavy and thoughtless and going nowhere. My throat began to ache; we'd finally come to terms with our love affair and Ferb wanted to go out and die?

"You're-you're not thinking about killing yourself are you?" I wavered and felt like burying my fucking self. "Please Ferb, don't."

"What do I have to lose?" He tore off a lengthy fingernail with his teeth "I mean really"

I felt my eyes widen and water; the eyebrows contorted horribly and I fell to bits. "You…have me Ferb"

Ferb glowered emptily "I love you, you know I do. But I realized it far too late and now I am a piece of white paper that's been soaked in kerosene and about to burn. I wish things could be different. FUCK" He exclaimed, voice full to the brink with emotion "All I ever wanted was to sit under our tree in Danville and talk our lives away. Then this mess had to happen. If I could go back in time I would never have picked up a guitar and a microphone, I would've stayed in our dreamy heaven and never peeked out from under the sheets." He was weeping—beyond simply crying—and throwing his head back against the wall.

"Except at the time what you needed was to be heard. The only way you were to tell anyone anything was through music and somehow the populous identified. Maybe none of them feel like you feel—hell I doubt any of them do!—but you must come to terms with the choices you've made. I know that sounds preachy and I want to slice my mouth off, it's the truth though. I can't even do it myself."

He latched a meatless hand around my own less-anorexia-addled one. "When did you become so wise Phineas? Oh when did you rip out my heart and stitch it into your chest? You sit silently and observe and you're all the better for it, you calculate everything you do beforehand and that would make you the stage performer of the century. The two times I stormed off and you resumed my place as band leader you shined brighter than a trillion Viking funeral pyres. You glowed better than I ever will. When I die, I want you to take over. I'm leaving everything to you, if only it were the universe. That would really show how much you matter to me."

"Ferb" I stammered hopelessly, for there was no more I could do to fix him. "Oh Ferb, I've loved you for eons and my heart merely pumps when you approve of me. Since childhood I've looked longingly into your face and prayed for you to notice. Through adolescence and more than ever stardom you twisted me into your barbed wire and played with my blood. We are tragedy incarnate and helpless and if you die, I die too."

"I can't let you pass Phin. You're too good to go with me, I believe you have a divine purpose; you'll lead The Highlighters into the sky and forever plant your names in the clouds."

"Don't you see Ferb? You've already done that, everybody wants you. The two times I took over I was greeted with the utmost approval, which means zilch. You made us famous, you write the lyrics and the guitar riffs that snap peoples wills like twigs. You're a Dionysian angel come up from Hell and you're spectacular and spinning and pulpy perfection." I stressed my sentences melodramatically, pulling faces at the singer and clawing his already trashed wrists.

"No, no I won't believe any of it. I've accomplished what many before me have." The stubborn mother fucker shook his hair slightly, angrily.

"You've done what Cobain, Morrison, Hendrix, Joplin, Ohlin and Vikernes did. You shifted an entire generation's culture; made _them _believe in what you have to say, you really ARE the voice of a decade. And I know you don't want to think you are for fear of—everything." I was exasperated; trying to convince Ferb that he was wrong was an impossible task. I felt like giving up on the whole thing. "I mean we've gone across every country and you've poured your being into everybody on the planet…"

"Don't you see that that's the problem? I've seen it all; been everywhere, done everything, tested every bloody limit—aside from death that is—but I've even cheated _that_ a few times" Ferb lifted his hands to enunciate each syllable with such a fiery, lacking agony. "I've milked the universe for long enough Phineas. What the fans want isn't butterfly-ash prose, it's to see a fucking show—they don't realize I go mental with my emotion and that my poetry is my soul—all they take in is another loony who somehow changed the world and has everything and yet is still questionably depressed. What makes the epics is never genius; it's some bizarre insanity that interminably haunts the heart, this always nagging sense of discomfort…like you're never quite at home. I can't bear to be alone with myself Phin; I'd lose it in a few hours. I already have a couple of times. Aside from me—and I say this humbly—the famous are superficial pop and rap stars with no feeling to their music; just shameless cashing in on the stupidity of the commoner. There have been far better before me and I pray to every deity from every divinity that there will be better to come. Right now the music industry is as transparent as Kate Moss' bulimia riddled body. I don't want to be a part of the plastic movement anymore. All I ever wanted was to play Rock N' Roll…"

I'd never thought I could be heartbroken now that I had him, but hearing those silken threads of depression leaking from his mouth made me feel nauseous. As once described by Mayhem bassist Necrobutcher about Per Ohlin, Ferb was on a pure death trip—hadn't he always been? No. When that peach-skinned baby was delivered twenty seven years ago to the day its' emerald eyes opened a world endlessly flipping with opportunity. Somewhere down the line he'd darkened. I couldn't say when or where or why or who'd played a role in it—had I? As a kid I'd constantly outshone him; was the way he'd developed an in-your-face personality through detest for me, or for himself? I knew I would never find him though; it was a solemn realization; that the one I'd truly given myself to was indecipherable. "Ferb" I tugged his hand into mine; it was icy. "…Ferb…"

"I'm going to break your heart one day Phineas. And I can't—I just can't deal with knowing that. You're the only person I've ever loved; I want you to hear me say it-" I raised a finger to shush what I felt was coming, Ferb stared levelly into me. A sea of tears slicked his face and they were still pouring. "I'm going to be dead soon Phin, you and I both realize this. So I'm breaking my own heart" He hiccupped, and drew a string of snot down from his nose when he swiped a bleeding wrist across it. "I—I need you to hate me"

"Why?" I sobbed, beating a fist into my jean-clad thigh.

"Because I hate myself Phinny."

I softly pressed his head into my lap and stroked his lush hair. A heavy sigh coursed through me and I closed my lids, feeling my eyes burning with unshed tears within the darkness. Things could've been so different...loud, enticing; living and breathing energy just spouting through the two of us as we lived our lives in each other's arms walking through the tangled web of life. But now that web seemed to be nothing more than a straight strand of silken thread, quiet and sullen and woven between us and what could have been. What should have been, if fame hadn't cursed us. "What are you trying so say?"

He refused to make direct eye contact. "We can't be together anymore. I won't let me wreck you." I felt my organs pull apart; each splitting slowly down the middle. I'd had composure before; suddenly I lost it all and started to ball inconsolably. I wanted to say that letting me go wasn't going to change a thing, that I'd always loved him and always would, that no matter what if he died I'd soon follow. But I knew it was hopeless, Ferb was stubborn and he would never change his mind. I nodded; defeated, crying, even less of a person than I'd been already.

We made love once more.

And fuck he was too skinny, and his legs were bruised and battered. He was broken, used, damaged goods. Incredibly imperfect. He'd begrimed himself with an empty existence, and I was on my last leg of the ride. His nakedness made him fragile. All flaws laid bare. For the first time I could see that he wasn't this...God I'd made him out to be.

Lying on top of him in the afterglow of orgasm, I beat my fists weakly against his caving chest. We cried all night.

He was just a boy.

_**Femme fatales emerged from shadows**_

_**To watch this creature fair**_

_**Boys stood upon their chairs**_

_**To make their point of view**_

_**I smiled sadly for a love I could not obey**_

_**Lady stardust sang his songs**_

_**Of darkness and dismay**_

_**And he was alright, the band was all together**_

_**Yes he was alright, the song went on forever**_

_**And he was awful nice**_

_**Really quite out of sight**_

_**And he sang all night long**_

_**Oh how I sighed when they asked if I knew his name**_

_**Ooh they was alright, the band was all together**_

_**Yes he was alright, and the song went on forever**_

_**He was awful nice**_

_**Really quite paradise**_

_**He sang all night long**_

**"I said goodbye again, sucking up all that was left of her into the little that was left of me. I said "don't look for me again. fuck it. we are all lost. goodbye, goodbye."-Charles Bukowski**


	32. Two Headed Boy

**I sincerely apologize for the ridiculous amount of time is has been since I updated. But writing this chapter put a lot of weight on my shoulders. It is the final moment; the death blow. After this there is only an epilogue. It's been a little over a year that I've been writing this story. How strange to fathom such a thing. I really do hope that you all read this, maybe shed a tear or two like I did as I toiled over the last scene. I will update soon my loves! R&R**

**~~Mick~~!**

**Disclaimer: Phin and Ferb and Two Headed Boy Pt 2 by Neutral Milk Hotel aren't mind. On that note this song isn't exactly rock n' roll. I recommend that you listen to it while you read the last scene. It's the last song on the bands first album and it's so incredibly perfect and heart breaking!**

_**Daddy please, hear this song that I sing.**_

_**In your heart there's a spark that just screams,**_

_**For a lover to bring a child to your chest,**_

_**That could lay as you sleep and love all you have left,**_

_**Like your boy used to be, long ago,**_

_**Wrapped in sheets warm and wet.**_

_**Blister please, with those wings in your spine.**_

_**Love to be with a brother of mine.**_

_**How he'd love to find your tongue in his teeth,**_

_**In a struggle to find secret songs that you keep,**_

_**Wrapped in boxes so tight, sounding only at night as you sleep.**_

_**And in my dreams you're alive and you're crying,**_

_**As your mouth moves in mine, soft and sweet.**_

_**Rings of flowers round your eyes and I love you,**_

_**For the rest of your life (when you're ready).**_

**February 1st 2010: The Beginning of the End of All That Ever Was**

When Mason told us Mr. Paul Sedgwick was coming to see us personally he was greeted with silence. Ferb and I sat at opposite ends of the couch with Buford in the middle. The drummer served as a physical representation of the wall now coolly built up between the two of us. I couldn't get over how horribly tragic this was all turning out to be. In the span of two months I'd had and lost my cosmic-lover. After that beautiful, heart-ripping conversation on Ferb's birthday we'd stopped talking altogether—it was too painful, at least that was my excuse. I didn't know what _he _thought; my mind tried and tried to figure out why ever he'd done what he'd done, but the thought always came out as blank as it went in.

"He's coming over at about half past and I want all o' you to be presentable right." Mason sunk his beady glare into Ferb, who sat slumped; donning Corpse-Paint and a floor length trench coat that only accentuated his thinness. "Somebody splash some bloody water on his face, he can't pass out in a heroin fucking coma when Mr. Sedgwick gets here! The boss has some exciting news for ya's!"

Baljeet hoisted Ferb up as if the singer were a cancer patient; that smug smirk on his mouth as he did so. I watched longingly as Jeet led Ferb to the bathroom to clean him up; Jeet so full of contempt and jealousy. If it'd been me I'd have softly dabbled water about his mouth and stared into his eyes until he came back to whatever state of reality he lived in.

"What type of news?" I could barely fathom how dry and lackluster my question was; Ferb's death proclamation had finished me off. I lifted a limp wrist; coated in a rich purple Mr. Roger's sweater, dropped it. Movement held no pleasure anymore. I'd have gladly melded into the couch I slumped so helplessly on.

"I'm not gonna ruin that Phinny!" Mason had a look on his face; one that said he took great, sadistic joy in my obvious fading. There came a knock at the door. "Oh fuck! That's got to be him…he's fucking early." The manager cast an uneasy side-glance at the washroom, no doubt praying that Ferb wasn't overdosing when our boss came in.

Buford blundered to unlock the door, as he opened it he stretched his broad back and put a straight-lipped expression on his face. "Good day Mr. Sedgwick"

"Good to see you Buford" The man—surprisingly bigger than our drummer in stature—patted his shoulder and walked in. He looked very stately in black suit and tie, his dark brown beard wild as ever. "Is everyone here?" As if on cue Jeet carted Ferb back to the couch, which he immediately fell into. I imagined what we looked like through Sedgwick's professional eye; a band that was dying. A bassist who'd given up everything for what had turned out to be nothing, a singer with a suicide wish (Oh what else is new?), an angry and twisted rhythm guitarist and a burly drummer—the most stable of us all. I watched Paul's eyes scan us distastefully, worriedly. "Hello Highlighters, how is everyone enjoying their fame?"

I glanced at the carpet awkwardly. When nobody answered Mason quipped "They're lovin' it Mr. Sedgwick, don't you worry."

"I'm sure Mr. Donnelley has told you boys I have news for you!" We all nodded slowly—excluding Ferb, he just stared into the abyss. The manager pressed his beefy palms together. "I've booked you your second American tour! Your flight leaves tomorrow night at precisely" He checked his Rolex nonsensically "Six o'clock. You'll be playing the Madison Square Garden on the 10th!"

"That's great" Baljeet smiled falsely "Right guys?" I set my eyes on him and I could tell he knew how much of a lie we were. The Highlighters were about as united as oil on water. Ferb didn't say a word; every band needs a Syd Barrett I thought, shuddering. How had a boy been torn this far? Five years ago he'd been an ecstatic king of the universe; now paint dried on his irises, coated them in psychedelic cataracts.

Paul was warm "And how are you Ferb, how does it feel to be the voice of a generation-like so many wish they could be?"

Buford prodded the singer, his optics twitched towards Mr. Sedgwick. Jeet had done a poor job of removing the makeup; obsidian still smeared all over. "I haven't always been this way" He spoke no more, only looked deeply into something that just wasn't there. I started to cry; despite the obvious reasoning I got filthy glares from the others.

"Can I talk to you out in the hallway?" Mason brought Paul outside. We listened to muffled voices; raised, resonating, questioning. Donnelley came back in alone. As soon as he did he began a quick and threatening walk to Ferb "You little fuck" He seized the collar of the emerald Prince's trench coat, lifted him a foot off of the sofa. "If you don't perform like a fucking wind-up toy on the tour you've really fucked yourself!"

"Leave him alone!" I screamed, seizing Mason's more muscled arms and pitching them away. Before he could total me Baljeet chided him into not doing so; I didn't thank him. I'd have taken a physical beating over my soul mate's eminent death any day.

**February 10th 2010; Loss**

Aside from Canada, New York was one of the only places I'd ever seen snow in. It dusted the rooftops and every nook and cranny as cocaine, no laugh left my mouth at the thought; it reminded me of how absurdly funny Ferb would once have found such a thing. I'd heard him speak so little…his one-liners were countable on my fingers. He'd fallen off the deep end. He was gone. There was fucking _nothing _I could do to help him. Torture, agony; every night I writhed in bed beside Baljeet and wept. The Indian embraced me; blanket of autumn skinned ice. I despised him, but somehow he was mature enough—in that one respect—to bite his tongue and care for me nonetheless.

Ferb received no sympathy from anybody: he would've blatantly refused it if he'd gotten it. I'd tried so hard to get through to him and to see beneath the image, rather than add coat after coat of plastic like everybody else. No. It had all been so incredibly futile; nearly twenty five years of practically being bound at the hip with another…and it had all been for nothing.

"Do you think Ferb's up yet?" I leaned over Jeet's newly awakened form, knowing full well how much he'd hate my question.

"I don't know, do I Phin" He rolled his brown-green eyes, scratched at his dirty tresses. "We're all on this floor of the Chelsea, might as well have a search if you really want to."

I rocketed myself from the bed, showered and threw on clingy old jeans and a worn Polo. I left my hair to hang in its' natural auburn waves against my face, neck, down to my shoulders. Where would I go if I were Ferb? My mind was a blank; how could I put myself in the shoes of the most unpredictable creature on the planet? It was like trying to get into the brain of a nervous doe. I rapped on several different doors; three turned out to be totally random people while the remaining ones had contained Buford, Isabella and Mason. Still no Ferb, I hadn't even any idea which room he'd boarded in. Had he slept? I stood pensively at the reception desk for awhile before a secretary addressed me.

"How can I help you Sir?" She had drawn on eyebrows and a blonde dye-job.

"Uhm…I was just wondering if you've seen my friend walking about. He's 6'1, very skinny…green hair." I felt stupid even asking the wench.

The girl looked perplexed for a few moments; I groveled silently and wondered how you could miss somebody as darkly flamboyant as Ferb. "Debbie?" She yelled, turning her chin back "Did you see a tall skinny guy with green hair pass by?" There was a whole lot of mumbling before she turned back and smiled tightly "My co-worker Debbie said she saw a boy who fits that description going towards the pool. If you keep going down this hallway it's on your left. You can't miss it." I gave her a nod and proceeded.

The area was haloed in the scaly aquamarine reflections of the pool. At such an early hour nobody resided by the tiled shores. "Ferb?" I called; my sneakers padded loudly against the floor. "Ferb?" I saw him before he decided to reply; naked, floating on his back in the deep end. His jade locks appeared forest green in the water; they framed his sickly face as Ophelia. His eyelids were closed and smeared with the remains of dark paint. At first glance I thought that the pallor of his skin was due to white powder, but with a more calculating stare I noticed his entire body had taken on an alarming snow white tone. "Ferb."

The dramatic eyelashes flapped until two piercing globes were burning into my own-less dangerous-visage. "I love the Queen, what a merry old bitch!"

I frowned, although at that point non-sequesters were the normal. "Are you feeling okay?" I rolled up the legs of my denim's and dropped my freckled limbs into the semi-cool water. Ferb didn't answer; I caught the sharp glare of tears filling his eyes. "…Are you feeling okay?" I was on a loop. "Are you feeling okay?"

He suddenly thrashed to the edge of the pool and climbed out. Without a reply he started tossing richly adorned chairs, emblazoned towels and hordes of other things into the water. A broken chair-back served as a knife when he decided to slash his stomach open. I hurried away from the pool-side and wrestled the metal from his meatless hands. For such a thin, unhealthy person Ferb was still surprisingly strong. More will than actual body power. "I DON'T WANT THIS" He shrieked, trying in vain to seize the hunk of chair. "I-I don't want this." He stumbled towards the water and collapsed face first into it. Blood spread out about his rake-like person, changing the liquid from crystal to a strange diluted red.

I jumped in and dragged Ferb's limpness onto one of the few white towels he'd neglected to toss. "Hey" I gently pushed one hollow cheek to the right; he didn't care. "Hey, we have a show in a few hours. Don't you think this is a bad way to start the day?"

"The day" Ferb glowered "I haven't slept for 72 hours. I don't know the difference between day or night or dawn or dusk, it's all so grey." His voice warbled and cracked; he looked sleep deprived. Aside from the black makeup his dark circles were enormous. "There is only one long and never ending tirade of grey."

"Do you think a hit will help you sleep? There's still awhile until we need to go to sound check." I tried to smile; faltered. "I've got some China White"

"It might; I've been doing Acid for the past month." With this admittance he seemed ashamed. I lifted his chin and bid him follow.

**TTTT**

He shot up enough heroin that he passed out; head rested on my lap and eyelids jumping in dream. I'd taken just the right amount, lolling my head against the wall and stroking Ferb's dirty hair. Having contact with him was a waking dream for me; I lusted for no sleep except for this one. What room were we in? Ferb's…I'd forgot he'd led us here. The light fixtures were slammed to pieces; mattress torn apart. The previous night he must've lost all control in an insomnia induced freak out. I shivered; how could he look so suddenly peaceful and childlike? It was an eternity and yet a split second when Baljeet stumbled upon us nodding about.

He yanked me from my opiate bath water with a scowl "Sound check is right now. Mason has a limo parked outside. Get up." Before I could move he hooked my arm and pulled me to a stand; Ferb's head fell back. I shook him gently; knowing full well that while I stayed sane I wasn't going to let Jeet rough him.

The starry eyes popped; he smiled sweetly. One of the last smiles he'd ever give. "Evening Phin, Jeet." Ferb woke from the nod and seemed perfectly…normal. This at that time was the most abnormal thing I'd had yet to see.

**TTTT**

Ferb did the opposite of what I expected. He walked onto the stage with every bit of gusto he'd had way back in 2006. He played his telecaster and sang his songs with every fiber of his being. Ferb Fletcher put on one hell of a show; the rest of us-once again-were just on the ride. Despite my happiness at his comeback I was aware it was false; there was a strange undertone to his performance. A finality.

**Dusk, February 10th 2010; The Tragedy Climaxes**

"I'm going to do it with a gun, for vanity's sake." The lightless chamber of his hotel room cast a dead light on him; it wasn't far from the truth. "I'm so tired of all this."

"We can escape. Think Ferb, there are alternatives. We can go buy a mansion in Sweden and live out the rest of our days in obscurity; we have the means, the right."

Ferb shook his mane sadly "Do you not see Phineas? I could never go back to that dream world. Once upon a time I belonged to this dirty air and sweaty cluster. But now I just watch, wait and watch. But for what? For death? For some sweet release? I walk about blindly; you're the only thing I can perceive as real. But I cannot lay that burden on your shoulders. I can never go back."

"What burden Ferb?" I cried, taking his slender hands and planting kisses upon every fingertip. "You're a gift."

"That's all I've ever been to anyone. Something to worship. I've always seen you in the same light as myself. Only we're not. I'm not even in the bloody light."

"I'll be your light" I pled, tears marring my horrendously freckled cheeks.

"You are Phin" He smiles gently; come to terms with oblivion. "There's no sun brighter." The settling dusk filtered in through the large patio doors; setting Ferb's eyes afire, painting his sickly skin golden. I hadn't observed him looking so alive in centuries. It was all so exaggeratedly bright and bare and genuine. "Somehow I always thought that stardom would make me feel normal. It hasn't though...I'm broken without repair. It's...it's too big Phineas. This image that has always been made out for me. I was a prodigy in childhood, and now I'm expected to hold up the flame of a generation? I've always felt so melancholy."

"All I ever tried to do was make you happy." I was sobbing, staring right into his juicy red heart. Ferb's wistful smile fled and before I knew it he'd palmed my chin and started kissing me. I buried my hands in his hair, latching on for dear life; afraid he'd disappear like I knew he would. "I don't know what to do with…this thing that tears me up inside."

Ferb's lips pull into an agonized expression. "Neither do I. But in my heart I do. Your kisses are the one thing that overshadow the terrible truth of the world. You can't always kiss me Phin, you have so much to do. I want The Highlighters to be yours. You always were the charismatic one; with me gone all that will come back." I could see him trying to convince himself.

"You don't really believe that." I stated, hiccupping and wiping my nose on the sleeve of the woolen sweatshirt I'd borrowed off him. Instead of answering Ferb pressed his open mouth into mine and we rolled about the bed; our hands found all the right places. We arced against eachother in that unmistakable way; he murmured sweet nothings into my tongue. Naked. "Please" I panted, feeling so horrifically in love.

"Please" He whispered right back. Our limbs intertwined; I was all twisted up in the twisted grief over Ferb that consumed me always, the healing joy of him that was more addictive than any drug. I shot cum onto a silk covered pillow. I ground myself into Ferb; wanting him to release all the pent up...everything. He came; kissing and biting my back. We sat back; he glowed falsely. And then I knew...I knew that somewhere deep down between the shadow and his soul he loved me.

"I never want you to leave Ferb, you understand that. Don't you?"

The irises darkened, penetrating my aortas. "You have to understand something yourself Phinny; I want you to lead our band to the annals of forever, I want you to go home. But I can never follow you there."

"I won't shine if you won't shine." My teeth chattered with sudden chill. "You can't go without me."

"Get me a fix won't you?" Ferb glanced at the floorboards, gnawing his plump lower lip. He looked every inch the wreck he was. I held his heroin box in my hands for a long while. Finally I took the deep silver spoon and large baggie of china white out. He planned to shoot himself; I wouldn't allow such a beautiful soul to be marred. His usual dose was 500 milligrams. I contemplated; making sure not to hesitate too long and melted down 1000. _This isn't how it should end_, my brain screamed; I chose my heart.

"All ready" Even as I spoke fresh tears drenched my face.

"Put it in my neck" I'd done it for him before; every time I jammed the needle point into that delicate throat my chest squeezed. I didn't stop to think. Slowly I draped his leather belt around his trachea; pulled tight. I slipped the syringe in and released the amber liquid. That was it. "Thanks Phin."

I propped him up on the bed and began to wail. "I'm ready to die too Ferb. If you are I am."

"I want you to-to go on" Already his breathing was incredibly shallow. "I know you can beat this thing Phineas." He opened and closed his mouth; fish out of water.

"Ferb" I cradled his elfish cheeks. "Like Keats' said in that poem you showed me an age ago; You are my morning and evening star." My words flowed out frantically. "I've admired you since I first set eyes on you. And I know nobody believes in soul mates or love at first sight, only I do. Because you've always been everything to me. The whole while I was with Isabella it was to cope with my confusion. I'm not gay, I'm not straight. I've just always been in love with you." His skin started to change; from ivory it became blue. He was suffocating; the pupils were but pen pricks in a sea of emerald. "I love you Ferb. I tried to give you the universe; I devoted my entire being into...into you. I want you to know that I'm coming too, I promise. That way we can live endlessly in the darkness you dream of. I love you Ferb."

There was disorientation in his facial features; then as his skin darkened another hue a realization. A calmness flooded him. "I love you too Phineas."

And then he was gone.

The terror set in. I'd just murdered Ferb Fletcher. I wasn't scared of getting caught I was scared of being alone. The one person in the solar system who'd never failed me in the end was finished. I couldn't watch his body spasm any longer and ran to my own room. What had I done? I locked my door and then collapsed in tremors, wails. Was I ready to die? The thought of nothingness made me sick. Only there was no going back; like Ferb had said only-minutes ago. I'd promised hadn't I? My mind snapped. How could somebody once so vibrant and passionate and kind and crazed and inhumanly beautiful be…dead. I was hit with wave after wave of irrevocable pain.

The even star of my universe was gone.

_**Brother see, we are one in the same.**_

_**And you left with your head filled with flames,**_

_**And you watched as your brains fell out through your teeth.**_

_**Push the pieces in place.**_

_**Make your smile sweet to see.**_

_**Don't you take this away.**_

_**I'm still wanting my face on your cheek.**_

_**And when we break we'll wait for our miracle.**_

_**God is a place where some holy spectacle lies.**_

_**And when we break we'll wait for our miracle.**_

_**God is a place you will wait for the rest of your life.**_

_**Two-headed boy, she is all you could need.**_

_**She will feed you tomatoes and radio wires,**_

_**And retire to sheets safe and clean,**_

_**But don't hate her when she gets up to leave.**_

**"My enemies referred the insanity to the drink rather than the drink to the insanity...it was the horrible never-ending oscillation between hope and despair which I could not longer have endured without total loss of reason. In the death of what was my life, then, I receive a new but-oh God! How melancholy an existence."-Edgar Allan Poe**


End file.
